


Jolly Sailor Bold

by brianaa_c



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: F/M, Mermaid!Clarke, Pirate AU, Set in the 1700s, in the Caribbean, mermaid au, pirate!Bellamy, there will be smut somehow somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-06 18:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11606220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brianaa_c/pseuds/brianaa_c
Summary: Pirate Bellamy Blake, the captain of the Dropship, knew the danger of mermaids. Surely, they were created by Satan himself to lure men into the deepest pits of watery hell. He knew if he let his guard down for even a second, she would murder him. But in this moment, he would follow the siren anywhere. Pirate!Bellamy and Mermaid!Clarke.





	1. On Stranger Tides

**Author's Note:**

> So yes I totally just finished watching Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, BUT this is an idea that's been floating around Tumblr and Twitter for quite some time, so I figured I might as well dive in (no pun intended) and write it. I hope you all enjoy!

_My heart is pierced by Cupid._

_I disdain all glittering gold._

_There's nothing can console me,_

_but my Jolly Sailor Bold._

_His hair, it hangs in ringlets,_

_his eyes as black as coal._

_My happiness attend him,_

_wherever he may go._

As he walked the length of his tattered ship, Bellamy felt someone watching him. But he's grown accustomed to it because as captain of a pirate ship, enemies are everywhere. 

It was a beautiful day out in the Caribbean. His ship, the Dropship, was just off the coast of Havana, where British soldiers patrolled constantly. He was a British man himself - or, at least, he was. When he joined the Royal Navy under false identification at sixteen, he had no idea what atrocities would be waiting for him. Not only that, but the need for gold and power soon took him over. He was no longer willing to serve in the navy, and with that, he left, becoming a criminal to his own. But he couldn't bare part with the sea, so he did the next best thing: he became a pirate. 

A fallen prince, some say. He was rumored to be connected to the Crown - a lost son or nephew of King George II - but he had always denied all claims to royal relations. No one truly knew the truth.

He slaps Miller, a sailor, on the back as he passes him tying rope. "Hoist the colors,” he says before heading toward the wheel.

The ship is suddenly filled with shouting, pirates running around the deck, pulling rope, raising flags, letting down sails. The ship surges forward as the wind picks up, pushing them forward into the blue unknown, the clear water sparkling from the dwindling sunlight.

Bryan walks up beside him, following the Captain’s gaze, watching the Caribbean waves. “Where to today, Captain?”

Bellamy gives his friend a knowing smile. “Away from Havana, at least for a little while. Jasper got quite handsy with a governor’s wife.”

His crewmate laughed, the dirt on his tanned skin folding with the wrinkles in his smile. It was always Jasper.

Bellamy always felt at home on the seas. When he was on land, he was pulled to the ocean. When he was on the water, he felt invincible, like he could do anything. He followed his own rules that he himself set forth on his ship, and he was the leader of his own life. He no longer had to assimilate to British tendencies, because he was no longer a true British man.

Hours must have gone by since they set sail, for it was getting dark, and the sun was setting. Fog rolled over the humid water, and crewmates began to light the candlelit lanterns on the sides of the ship.

“Captain!” A sailor suddenly shouts out, interrupting Bellamy’s peace. “Captain, there’s someone out there!”

With a groan, the pirate pushes himself away from the wheel, allowing his second to take over as he investigates. Pulling out his spyglass, he walks to the side of the ship, not being able to see much, but enough. There was a figure on a small island just a few hundred yards out, likely a person. British ships patrol these waters at night, and although he wouldn’t consider himself a savior, he reckoned they’d have better luck with pirates than an angry royal navy.

Bellamy turns to Miller. “Lower me a boat.”

He and Jasper set sail towards the island on a life boat, the sailor unable to quit speaking, telling his captain useless stories about ghosts and warlocks.

They reach the shore soon enough, Bellamy stepping onto the white sand as Jasper pulls the boat in from the water. As he gets closer, Bellamy notices it’s a woman, nude and unconscious, lying chest down on the sand, her head turned to the side. He crouches beside her, reaching his hand to touch her. She’s still warm.

He turns to Jasper. “I think she needs help.”

Jasper comes up behind him as he turns his attention back to the woman. She’s tanned, almost as tan as his brown skin. Her hair is long and tangled and blonde, almost white from what Bellamy guesses is the sun. She’s small but long, her strewn legs and arms almost lanky.

“Miss?” He calls out, attempting to touch her again, this time on the shoulder. There’s commotion on the water, and he looks up to see his crew sailing towards them in lifeboats, and he’s anxious. He needs her responsive before they get here. “Ma’am, are you alright?”

Suddenly, the woman opens her eyes with a jolt, and instantly Bellamy jumps away with a gasp, scrambling to his feet. Her eyes are practically glowing, icy irises surrounded by fluorescent white. Her eyes are wide as she stares at him, but he’s sure he’s the one who’s more shocked.

They continue to stare each other down, her eyes practically illuminating the sand below them. “I-… How-?”

The woman tries to crawl away quickly, heading towards the ocean. _Is she absolutely mad?_

Bellamy reaches out to stop her without thinking, his fingers closing around her ankle as soon as her hand touches the water. Her head swings around to face him, her face suddenly spotted with silvery green and blue scales, and he’s completely bewildered.

Her eyes travel down to his hand, and when he follows her gaze, he feels like he’s gone mad. In his tight fist is a tail, long and dainty, with scales matching the ones on her face. He looks back up at her, and her eyes are wide with fright.

“She’s a siren!” Jasper says, mystified. By then, the crew reached the island, and they begin to notice her, too.

Bellamy instantly lets go of her tail, but before she can swim away, a sword dives into the shallow water, through the fin of her tail. The woman lets out a screech and a cry, and Bellamy turns to see Finn beside him, watching the woman in the water with puzzled eyes.

“Let her go,” he orders him, but Finn doesn’t budge, and neither do the men crowding behind them.

“Are you _mad_?” Finn spits at his captain, a hazy smile on his face. “Sirens kill sailors. Don’t you want to see what she’s about? What she can do?”

He’s heard stories, about sailors lured to their deaths by such creatures. They sing beautifully, and their voices are like velvet, placing you under a trance before drowning you in the deep water. Bellamy just never thought they actually existed. Until now.

Before he could answer, a net was thrown over her, and she began thrashing in the water, trying to escape. He felt wrong, but in fear of looking weak in the eyes of his crew, allowed it, going back to the Dropship with her by the hands of Finn.

When they return to the Dropship he’s quick to pull her from the circling men, much to their groans of dismay and annoyance. She cannot walk, so he carries her to his quarters, but she’s stiff and uncomfortable in his arms and she doesn’t say a word.

He places her on his bed after he closes the wooden doors with his foot, and he quite literally can’t take his eyes off her when he steps back to inspect her.

Her skin is clear, cleaner than it possibly should be for someone stranded at sea. Her hair is long and tangled, coated in specs of gold, foiled into the numerous braids in her thick tresses. Her human legs have since returned but the scales remain in places like her temples, shoulders, hips, and knees. She’s thin but strong, and he doesn’t notice how intently he’s staring until she crosses her legs and hugs herself. She’s stunning. Absolutely stunning.

“What were you doing on that island?” He asks her, and her shocking eyes flit to his, the whites tamer now that they’re inside and out of the night. He can tell she’s frightened but there’s an edge in her gaze that he doesn’t want to tempt.

She doesn’t answer, so he tries again as he begins to pace the room. “Do you have a name?”

Again, no answer. She just looks away, eyeing his quarters.

 “Fine,” he tells her, turning back to her, patience wearing thin. “If you don’t want to speak with me, then maybe you’ll like to speak with the crew. I’m sure they’ll enjoy your company.”

He begins to exit, but she finds her voice. “You are all the same.”

Just like the stories have told him, her voice is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. Her accent is thick as if she’s French. It’s deep but airy. Sensual.

“What?”

Her eyes cut to him as if challenging him. “You. Men. You are all the same, treating us as if we only exist for your enjoyment.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Now that’s not true, we-”

“Is it not?” She cuts him off, her voice calm but her eyes wild, staring him down. “Then why am I here? Why did you take me?”

She had a point. He stares at her before answering. “I thought you were a woman lost at sea.”

She laughs at his audacity, and it sounds like a musical tune that he’d beg to listen to, again and again. “Do I look human? Did you think I was in need of saving?”

Of course, she didn’t look human. Her skin was too smooth, and she was too beautiful. The scales that peppered her body had a blue tint, something that was impossible for mere mortals. Her eyes glowed in the dark for Christ’s sake.

“At first, I truly did,” he admitted to her. He moves to sit next to her on the bed, and she shifts away from him slightly. “A sailor saw a figure who turned out to be you, and we set out to investigate. I figured better a pirate find you than the navy. Who knows what they’d do.”

The siren’s gaze flits to him, and he feels almost uncomfortable, like her stare was too intense for him. She’s so beautiful, and it’s making him dizzy. He feels sick and impatient and anxious, all at once. He must carefully plan his words, or else he’d get tongue tied.

“Why are you being kind to me?” She studies him, trying to read him. “I thought pirates were supposed to be crass.”

“We are,” he assures her with a closed-lip smirk, but she doesn’t find the humor in his joke, choosing to look away from him. “You’re a person as much as we are, are you not?” He shifts, loosening the ties on his flowy cotton shirt, leaning back to take it off. “You should be treated as such.”

“I am not a human,” she corrects him, bringing her knees to her chest, hugging her legs tightly. “I am the sea.” The pirate beside her laughs, and she’s puzzled. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“Because,” he says, handing his shirt to her. “Right now, you are. A very naked one, at that, sitting in a Captain’s quarters. I’d say you are _very_ human.”

She raises an eyebrow but takes the shirt from his hands, slipping it over her head. “And apparently, nudity is not widely accepted,” she ponders, flipping her hair out from under the ruffled collar.

“I mean,” he begins, that smirk returning. “I certainly would not mind.”

The siren rolls her eyes at him, and Bellamy’s smile falls, his face becoming more serious. She was beautiful, sure, but so obviously hard. Hard to the point of brokenness.

He reaches up to push a stray strand from her face, and she flinches. When he tries again, she allows him to touch her, holding her breath as he brushes her hair behind her ear.

Bellamy’s hand drops. “What’s your name?”

“What is yours?”

He narrows his eyes at her. “Bellamy Blake, Captain of the Dropship.”

She nods, reaching a hand up to play with one of the long strings from the shirt he gave her between her fingers. “I do not have a name,” she tells him. “In the water… we are all one body. One being. Names are just… trivial.”

Bellamy stares at her, watching her watch her hands. Her eyes never stray from the silly string between her fingers, and so he reaches out, enclosing her hands with his.

“Would you like one?” He asks her, waiting until she was looking at him to continue. “Would you like a name?”

Her icy blue eyes bore into his, and he has no choice but to glance down. Her gaze was too intense. “I have always been fond of the name Clarke,” she says, and a smile begins to creep onto her face. “It sounds wholesome.”

They talk for hours, and soon she’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, eyes wide with enthusiasm as she tells him a story about a shark near the gulf. He learns sirens are short-tempered and bold, and she even admits they don’t take kindly to humans. Her favorite color is blue, and she comes to the surface quite often to admire the flowers on land. Sirens do not age in water, only growing older when she is on land.

He tells her about his ship and his crew, and how it is to be a pirate in the 18th century. Anger flares in her eyes when he speaks of hunting, but she seems genuinely fascinated, and he feels as if they fit together, as if they were friends for years. It’s not until the ship is silent and still from the night when she realizes his hands are still holding hers.

Bellamy would be lying if the thought of moving in on her hadn’t crossed his mind once or twice. But she was so positively beautiful, and it would be almost wrong to taint that. Clarke had a sort of innocence to her, and he didn’t dare mess it up. So, he falls asleep on his newly designated side of his bed, as far from the siren as he could get.

* * *

 A solid wave rocks the boat, jolting Bellamy awake. The flame on his candle on the table beside him is almost out, but he can see enough from the slowly rising sun outside his porthole to know Clarke isn’t beside him. _Shit._

Grabbing a leather coat from the hook, he pushes open the heavy wooden doors, instantly met with winds filled with salt and humidity. The night is still but the stars are not. They’re twinkling, peeking out from thin clouds, fading as the sky lightened.

He finds her perched on the hull of the Dropship, dangling her feet over the wooden railing.

“That’s dangerous,” he calls out to her, and she jumps, looking over his shoulder. She relaxes when she sees it’s him, turning back to the ocean, tilting her head back to feel the breeze. “You could be tossed overboard by one rogue wave.”

“I can breathe underwater, Captain,” she tells him matter-of-factly once he’s close enough to hear her over the waves without yelling. Bellamy stands beside her, resting his hands on the railing, following her gaze out over the water.

“If you can’t walk,” he begins, and he feels her glance shift to his face, but he doesn’t dare move his line of sight from the waves. “How did you get here?”

Clarke laughs, and it’s breathtaking. She’s so goddamn breathtaking, his head is spinning. “I am a siren, Captain. Surely you believe in a bit of magic as well.”

They stay in silence for some time, and Bellamy watches Clarke from the corner of his eye throw her head back and closed her eyes, breathing in the salty air rocking the front of the ship. She’s swaying her long legs back and forth, and he catches glimpse of her left foot, bruised and bloodied.

He moves closer. “What happened? To your foot, I mean.”

Clarke picks her head up slowly, taking her time to open her eyes. When she does, her pupils dilate, quickly going from a cat-like form to a more circular shape. It’s haunting, and a shiver runs through him. “Ask your crew.” She tells him gravely.

Bellamy remembers. Finn stabbed her tail to keep her from swimming away, and he guesses her injury as a mermaid makes her injured as a human as well.

“I’m sorry.”

Clarke smiles, but it’s from his audacity, not his charm. “Words do not mean much to beings like me. Our actions are what show our true intentions.” She glances at him, her blonde hair whipping around her dewy skin. “Until yours do, I do not accept your apology.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows scrunch together, and he reaches up to rub the unruly stubble on his jaw. “I quite literally just apologized, how can you not accept?”

The siren is calm, but her eyes are steel. She narrows her icy eyes at him. “Just because you speak of forgiveness does not mean you deserve it to be granted to you. You must earn it, Captain.  _J'attendra,_ _mon Capitaine_.”

The woman before him speaking French is just enough to send a man to his knees, but Bellamy steadies himself on the railing, moving closer to her. “You don’t have to wait,” he tells her curtly. “Just swim away if you want.”

She turns to him then, her beautiful face contorted in pain. “I cannot,” she tells him, gesturing to her foot. “If there is an injury to our tail, we cannot swim.” She takes a deep breath, but it’s shaky and it catches him off guard. “I am stuck here.”

He’s not sure what to say so they stay silent, allowing the waves to rock them back and forth. He’s never had to be comforting so he’s at a loss, wracking his brain, trying to find words. But there’s just enough light from the moon and he can see his shirt ride up on her hip as the wind whips her hair around and he’s thrown off course. His eyes travel from her lean legs, up to her thin side and long neck, before landing on her flawless skin, studying the twinkling scales on her cheek. Bellamy doesn’t even realize he’s staring until she leans in, her face merely inches from his.

“Do you want me, Captain?”

His eyes are blown wide by her boldness, unable to stifle a chuckle as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, turning his gaze back to the sea. “That was… subtle.”

Bellamy feels her eyes burning into his temple. “I am serious,” she presses, and he watches as her eyes turn from blue to the most beautiful shade of gold. Suddenly, he feels a sharp pull on his heart, like someone put a branding iron in the shape of her name to his heart, growing stronger and more painful by the second, and he’s answering her question a bit more truthful than he would want to.

“Of course, I do, look at you.” It was a relief to get the truth off his chest, and a small smile appeared on her face, her eyes fading back to ice. The pain subsides instantly. “What was that?”

She leans to him, tilting her face, watching him. “We can make humans tell their truths.” She pauses, narrowing her eyes. “You did not seem to put up much of a fight.”

He eyes her warily. “I didn’t know there was anything I had to put up a fight for.”

Clarke laughs again, and he finds himself staring at her, watching her every move. She moved with such grace, such beauty, her tanned legs never ending as she propped one foot up on the railing, resting her chin on her knee. Her back is to him but he sees the gold in her hair, braided and twisted, ethereal. When she turns back to him, she’s smiling, her white teeth glimmering against her pink lips.

She tilts her head, biting her bottom lip deliciously. “You should not trust me, Captain.”

She watches him shift closer beside her, his fingers practically itching to touch her. She closes her eyes and faces the wind when she feels Bellamy’s knuckle brush her hip, raising goosebumps on her skin. “Why not?” He asks her. His voice is gentler.

She turns her head, and he’s closer, her nose brushing his cheek, her eyes still shut. “We are romantic creatures,” she tells him, her voice barely a whisper. “But we are very deadly. Are you willing to risk it, _Capitaine?_ _”_

Clarke opens her eyes to be met with his own gaze, burning and intense, a hand reaching up to brush the hair from her face. She watches him, her icy eyes coy.

Bellamy knew the danger of mermaids. Surely, they were created by Satan himself to lure men such as himself into the deepest pits of watery hell. He knew if he left his guard down for even just a second, she would murder him. But in this moment, he would follow the siren anywhere.

His heart is thumping in his ears as he puts a finger under her chin, tilting her face up. Her eyes close and she exhales, her sweet breath fanning over his face. He leans in, as if to kiss her, and-

“Captain!” A voice cuts through the still morning, and Bellamy jumps. Clarke’s shoulders slump, raising an eyebrow as she looks over Bellamy’s shoulder. “Captain, you’re needed up at the mast base.”

Her eyes flit back to the captain, and she finds he’s still staring down at her, holding her chin. “Go,” she tells him, noting the confusion in his eyes. “Go,” she repeats with a tone of finality.

With a nod, he taps her once on the cheek with his thumb before departing from her, leaving her to herself as he runs after Miller. She watches his retreating back, unsure what to make of him. He wasn’t like his kind.

When Bellamy catches up to Miller, his friend is smiling like a madman. “Am I getting scurvy or were you about to kiss a fish?”

Bellamy doesn’t meet his gaze, keeping his hands on the ropes as he pulls. “It’s a mind trick,” he mumbles, grunting as he unties a knot. “She can control your mind if you aren’t careful.”

“Sure, Cap,” Miller laughs, climbing the ropes. “She’s a blonde. Ain’t that your weakness?”

Bellamy drops the ropes in his hands, letting them fall to the floorboards with a _thud._ “How’s your husband? Still in lockup?”

Miller’s smile falls, scowling at his captain. “No thanks to you, yes. He is.”

Anger bubbles in Bellamy’s chest as he watches his friend climb into the mast. Sure, Miller was more like Bellamy’s brother than a crewmate, and maybe he shouldn’t have taken a dig at his friend in the first place, but he still expects the same level of respect. How dare he speak to his captain like this?

He runs his hand through his dirty hair before turning his gaze back to the front of his ship. Clarke is gone, but he doesn’t have to look far, finding her by the cannons with Raven, his second-hand woman, and Lexa. The siren is smiling, laughing at something Raven says. She looked relaxed, like she was comfortable. Why wasn’t she like that with him? He only knew her half a day, but Raven knew her all of five minutes.

There’s shouting at the stern of the Dropship, and that turns his direction, having no choice but to diffuse the situation between Murphy and Monty. When that’s finished, he turns his attention back to the canons, but the women were gone.

He looks everywhere for them: the hull, the stern, and everywhere in between, but they’re nowhere on deck.

_She tilts her head, biting her bottom lip deliciously. “You should not trust me, Captain.”_

_“Shit!”_

Bellamy looks for the nearest sailor, grabbing Lincoln’s collar, yanking him to him. “Did you see where the siren went?”

Lincoln’s eyes were wide, but he shook his head. “Maybe below deck?”

Bellamy releases the crewmate, bolting to the stairs, taking them two at a time. If Clarke killed Raven or Lexa, he’d kill the mermaid himself.

“Raven!” He yells out, ducking under the rope, making his way to crew quarters. “ _Raven!”_

“What?”

He spins on his heel and is face to face with his smartest sailor, her arms crossed, her eyebrow raised at him in judgment. “What do you need?”

“It’s a funny story, actually.” Bellamy finds himself sighing in relief, giving her an easy smile. Clarke could have easily thrown them both overboard, but she didn’t. “I thought Clarke could have killed you.”

Raven gives him an incredulous look before rolling her eyes, shifting her weight. She glances over her shoulder and Bellamy follows her gaze, seeing Clarke sitting on Raven’s bed, Lexa leaning against the wall beside her. They’re both staring at her, but Clarke is the one who’s angry, and he finds he can’t break eye contact.

“She wanted pants.”

 He snaps out of it. “What?”

Raven snaps her fingers in front of his face, forcing him to look at her. “She needed pants. One of your shirts only covers so much. You have her on a boat with Finn and _Murphy_ for crying out loud. Take better care of your guests, Captain.”

Bellamy narrows his eyes at her. “She didn’t seem to mind her nudity.”

His crewmate steps forward, lowering her voice. “She’s a beautiful woman on a boat with men who haven’t seen beautiful women in God knows how long.” She pauses. “You really want to subject her to that danger?”

He glances behind Raven, watching Clarke. She’s laughing at something Lexa said or did, her magical voice his own personal heaven. “She’s not just a woman-”

“Then act like it,” she hisses. “You took her onto this boat to protect her from the likes of Finn, and so far, I haven’t seen you step up.”

Anger burns his throat, flooding his cheeks, through his ears. He never asked for this. He never meant for her to become _his_ responsibility, like she was suddenly his _wife._ He'd sooner die than treat her as such. He was a Captain! He stood down to no one.

“Get back topside,” he finally tells Raven, forcing himself to not glance back at the siren once more before scaling the steps to the deck, taking them two at a time. He couldn’t get away from the situation fast enough.

Much to his relief, he doesn’t see much of the three women throughout the day, only catching glimpses of Raven manning the deck or Lexa scaling the ropes. He spends most of his time in his quarters, standing around the large oval table in the center of his captain’s room, studying his maps, adding marks and lines where need be.

It’s not until late when he takes a break for himself, stepping out into the night, tilting his head back, staring up at the stars. He crosses his arms and leans back onto the side railing of the deck, closing his eyes, breathing in the sea air.

A day ago, he was on his way to Santiago de Cuba, preparing to be richer and heavier in ego. Now, here he was, housing a siren in his very bed. He already knows her beauty will be his downfall.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

Bellamy picks his head up and opens his eyes, turning his gaze to see Miller walking towards him, his palm bouncing on the hilt of his sword.

He nods, allowing Miller to slap his shoulder. “Already forgotten,” Bellamy confirms, flashing his oldest friend a grin.

Miller smiles, joining him against the railing, letting out a sigh. “Besides, I want to know why you were about to kiss a fish.”

Bellamy groans, scrubbing his face with his hands, digging his palms into his eyes. “She’s not a fish,” he corrects, lifting his head from his hands, blinking his starry vision back into focus. “She’s… I don’t know, she’s different.”

His right-hand-man thinks before speaking. “Like, more beautiful than the girls in the Havana bar, different?” He pauses for a beat. “Or Gina different?”

The remnant of his love for his deceased lover pangs in his chest, and he swallows hard, squinting, looking out to the water. Bellamy shakes his head. “Different than Gina. Different than both.” He reaches up to scratch his neck. “I’ve never seen someone like her before. It’s… intense.”

“Good or bad?”

Bellamy chuckles. “Who knows. She hasn’t tried to kill me yet, so I suppose it can’t be all bad.”

His friend laughs, and they talk until they can’t keep their eyes open, just like they were young boys, running from the shop after they stole chocolates, being chased by the British guard. They joked and laughed and suddenly they were ten years old and shoving each other into the dirt to play fight again.

Miller parts to find sleep, and he leaves Bellamy alone on deck with nothing but his thoughts. With a deep breath in, he pushes away from the railing, making his way to his quarters.

Once the main doors are shut he rids himself of his shirt, the fabric sticking to his freckled back in the summer humidity. He tosses it onto the table covered in maps before shoving his hands through his tangled hair, shaking it out before pushing back the curtain to his bedroom.

He can’t say he’s not surprised at his view when he finds himself face to face with the siren. She’s stretched out over the blankets of his bed, watching him. His shirt she borrowed is strewn over his bedpost while Raven’s pair of trousers are resting on the floor. She’s on her side, propped up on her elbow. Her arm falls in front of her to cover her breasts, and her hips are tilted into the fur to block her womanhood from his view. Still, she’s a beautiful vision, and he feels his shoulders begin to relax.

She scrunches her eyebrows together slightly, sitting up, fingers digging into the soft fur below her. “You are tense.”

He rubs his face again, sneaking another peek at her figure before lifting his hand in the air, as if to brush her statement away. “I’m fine. I see you made yourself at home.”

The corners of her perfect mouth flit up, rolling over to her back, stretching out. He steals another glance at her, watching her marbled body twist and turn. “ _Parle moi. J'écouterai_.”

Bellamy walks over to the bed, her icy eyes watching him as he sits down on the edge, nowhere near her. “Unfortunately, I’m not that versed in the French language,” he tells her, rubbing his hands back and forth on his thighs. “You’ll have to help me out.”

A twinkle in her eyes lights up her face as she sits up, shifting so she’s sitting on her knees. “I can help you with that, Captain,” she tells him, reaching out to him. She touched the hand on his thigh, and he shivered as goose bumps spread over his skin, allowing her to move his fingers to her hip.

He brushes her hip with his thumb hesitantly, watching her, making sure this is what she really meant. That she was serious. “Are you positive?”

Clarke doesn’t answer his question. Instead, she reaches up to brush the messy hair from his eyes, wrapping her arm around his neck, pulling him down. He allows her to move him easily, her arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. He feels her pulling on his heart, drawing him in, enchanting him. He settles between her legs, and she raises a taunt thigh to wrap around his waist, running a hand up his bicep.

Bellamy reaches up to brush her temple with his knuckle, her bluish-green scales cold under his touch. She shivers when she closes her eyes, and his finger goes to her nose, then her chin, tilting her mouth towards his. She shies away.

“I do not kiss humans,” she tells him, grabbing his hair at the nape of his neck, forcing him into place. She was stronger than he would have thought.

“You were about to kiss me this morning.”

Clarke laughs. “Because I knew we would be interrupted.”

He eyes her, the hand on her hip slipping down, his hand wrapping around her thigh. He brings his lips to her neck, and she practically purrs from under him. “What _can_ I kiss?” He murmurs against her hot skin.

A shudder runs through her, and she lets out a breathless laugh. “You can kiss _everything_.”

And he did.


	2. Tell Me A Truth

The heat on her back from the sun pouring in through the portholes awoke her. Clarke snuggles deeper into her feathered pillow, shifting slightly, the fur blankets bunching around her waist. She was at ease for the first time in a long time.

Although she is inside she can still smell the sea breeze, warming her insides, reminding her of home. Oh, how she wishes she could go home. She moves to flex her foot slightly, and instantly pain radiates from her toes to her ears, having to clench her teeth to prevent her crying out. She forgot how excruciating injuries are as a human. It’s the body’s way of reminding her she shouldn’t be human. Every step, every shift of weight, every single movement. It feels as if a thousand knives are piercing her foot and leg. Pain, pain, pain. But she’s strong, and she has no choice. She pushes through.

When the pain finally subsides, she opens her eyes, taking in her surroundings. She hasn’t been in Bellamy’s quarters during the day, and although her eyes allow her to see in the dark, the light from outside allows her to view things more sharply, with clarity. Aside from the random few shirts thrown on the ground, and a few swords or rifles lining the walls, his bedroom is relatively bare, as if he doesn’t spend much time inside.

Clarke’s eyes flit to the sleeping man next to her, resting on his back, his chest rising and falling with every slow breath. The blankets are thrown around his waist, the faint lines of muscles dipping into obscurity. One hand is resting on his stomach while the other is thrown out to his side. He looks peaceful as he sleeps, she notes, and somewhat younger. Like the weight of the world is no longer resting on his shoulders.

She twists herself so she’s on her side facing him, tucking an arm under her cheek. She rarely has been this close to a human, but the Captain seems different. He seems less dangerous as if she’s here for _more_ than some sort of sick personal show. She’s only known him for such a small time, but she feels almost safe with him like even if he were a pirate, he wouldn’t treat her like he was one. Especially last night.

Clarke finds the faintest of smiles creeping onto her face, watching Bellamy’s lips part slightly for an intake of breath. Last night, he didn’t use her as some sort of plaything. He was cautious with her as if he’d break her with any wrong move. Although he found out fairly quickly that she’s the stronger one, realizing that sirens actually have some sort of superhuman strength. Bellamy made sure that she received human pleasure, too. She’s never been so sensitive; so stimulated, but he found the perfect way to work her.

_He leans in to kiss her once more, but she ducks her head, his lips landing on her cheek instead. Bellamy chuckles with frustration, grabbing her chin, meeting her eyes with his. “Why can’t I kiss you?”_

_She tightens her thighs around his waist, turning them, putting Bellamy on his back. She sits up and moves her hands to the button on his pants, making quick work of it. She pulls them down to his knees, and he tightens his grip on her hips as he shakes them off his feet before returning his attention back to the siren. Clarke leans down to kiss his chest, and he sighs, gathering her braided gold hair in his hands, pulling slightly._

_“Because,” she murmurs against his collarbone. “If I kiss you, I give you all my secrets.”_

_Bellamy knew the story, or rather the myth. If you kiss a siren, you can breathe underwater. It leaves the creatures vulnerable because once a human is allowed underwater, they have the liberty to expose them. “If you couldn’t beat ‘em,” he remembers his old captain saying before he got his own ship. “Join ‘em.”_

_“And would that be so bad?” The Captain breathes against her cheek as she kisses his neck, without a doubt leaving a mark. Clarke bites down, and he jumps, pleasure jolting through him._

_“Of course it would be.”_

Clarke reaches out to his face, her hand pausing just for a second before extending. She pushes his black hair from his forehead, and he shifts under her touch, Clarke yanking her hand back just before he opens his eyes.

They lay in silence for quite some time, watching each other, breathing them in. Eventually, Bellamy breaks eye contact, looking up at the wooden boards on the ceiling, letting out a heavy morning groan. “I honestly thought you wouldn’t be here when I woke up.”

Her eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Why?”

“You weren’t here last night,” he says, rolling his head to the side to look at her. “I found you exploring the ship. You could have swum away or whatever it is you do.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “I can’t swim, remember? I might as well enjoy my time here.”

“Oh,” he teases, throwing an arm over his face. “So, last night was enjoyable?”

“Perhaps.” She narrows her eyes at him before smiling, letting out another one of her beautiful giggles. Warmth spreads through his chest as he watches her, feeling… nervous? Like his head was filled with water, like he had butterflies in his stomach. He never felt like this with anyone, not even his wife who perished years ago. She was different. Only a day he’d known her, and he’s already sucked in. She’s absolutely captivating.

“You are quite captivating yourself, Captain,” she breathes, pulling him from his thoughts.

“You read my mind?”

She raises a hand and flings it through the air as if she’s swatting away the statement. “If I read your mind, it would cause you pain. I simply viewed your thoughts.”

Bellamy shakes his head incredulously. “This is witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft is your ship, floating on water with weight greater than boulders,” she leverages, and he brings his eyes back to her. “Just because I am different from you does not make _you_ normal. You are just as strange as I am, Captain.”

He watches her, her words seeping into his skin, her accent enveloping him. She seems as if she should belong in Versailles, with ribbons rather than gold mineral in her hair, with bright makeup instead of scales. An angel such as herself didn’t deserve to be a predator in the deep sea, but rather a royal in a palace.

A hand reaches out to her, his finger gingerly grazing the number of scales on her shoulder. They feel like ice, reminding of her frosty blue eyes. The rest of her, the parts with flawless skin, is hot to the touch, warmer than any human should be. But she’s a different species, and he figures that’s how she lives without her body burning under the sun, or freezing in the sea.

“What else makes you different?” He flattens his hand on her shoulder, brushing down to her elbow and stops, holding her comfortably. Her eyes are burning, but he’s not sure what for.

She moves to place a hand on his face, scooting closer. Their knees touch as her eyes turn gold, like the flecks in her hair. “Tell me a truth,” she breathes.

He feels the pull on his heart again, growing warmer with every hesitation. “You’re beautiful,” he says like it was pulled from his throat. Her eyes return to blue, and the pull on him ceases.

Bellamy takes a minute to sigh, running his hand through his hair before placing it back on her elbow, pulling her closer to him. “I’ve known about that part. I meant what I haven’t already found out.”

“We are strong,” she tells him, his hand on her elbow going to her back, tracing the line of her spine. “Stronger than any human. We spent centuries fighting, and we had to adapt. Now, because of that, we rule the seas. The only threat to us is each other.” She pauses, bringing her eyes back to him. “Or humans who entrap us.”

“We’re a threat? Humans?”

“There is a reason why granting our power to another is so difficult for us to do, and so invasive,” she responds, alluding to a siren’s kiss. “When you give away that ability, you lose all leverage.” She pauses. “We have been hunted by your kind for centuries. To some, we are only a rumor. To others, we are prizes to spend lifetimes discovering and obsessing.”

He feels anger towards his type. Clarke is beautiful. How could someone hunt something so beautiful? So vibrant? “And my crew?” He asks.

Her eyes are dark. “John. Finn. They are selfish and cruel. Darkness surrounds them. They want me for reasons opposite than you.” She gives a small smile. “But there are others. Lexa’s thoughts are filled with her wife and her home in Havana. Raven dreams of a castle on a small island, surrounded by waves. And Nathan thinks of you,” she says, flitting her eyes to his. “And your friendship. He is pure.”

“He’s my oldest friend,” he tells her, taking pure satisfaction in the way her arms begin to circle around his waist as if she’s doing it unconsciously. “We grew up together in London, and he followed me to the Caribbean. Unfortunately, his husband is in the brig. He’s all I have.”

They spend the day talking, curled in bed together, learning each other. She falls asleep at one point, and when wakes, it’s dark and he’s watching her, and she must tell him with a blush on her cheeks that because she only needs sleep as a human, it’s a newfound love.

Bellamy and Clarke spend the next days, maybe even weeks in bed beneath the covers, the Captain avoiding his duties, ignoring the numerous knocks on his doors. He’s obsessed with this woman as if he can’t get enough. She makes avoiding his tasks easy, and she barely gives him time to catch his breath before her lips on his chest begin again, moving on top of him, bringing him pleasure once more.

They don’t move until her stomach is growling, so they dress and join the crew for dinner, much to Bellamy’s dissatisfaction. Now learning the truth about Murphy and Finn, he’d rather not have her in such close quarters with them. He never trusted them to begin with, and now this only makes it easier to hate them.

She’s disgusted to find they eat fish, and she’s even nauseated when Miller slides her a plate full of flounder. Luckily, Bellamy notices fairly quickly, giving her his bread, trading it for her plate.

“You got to get used to eating your own kind,” Murphy teases her, watching her pick at the bread with her fingers. “That’s all we have once the bread is gone.”

“Shut up, Murphy,” Bellamy hisses, balling his hand on the table into a fist. He was already on edge, and Murphy was doing nothing to soothe his temper.

“It is okay,” she says to Bellamy before turning to Murphy. “Maybe I will eat you.”

Everyone at the long table laughs, and Murphy sinks into his seat, mumbling something about ‘stupid fish’ as he pokes at his strip of salted meat. Bellamy chuckles, and he and Clarke share a playful glance.

“So is the gold in your hair real?” Lexa asks, motioning to her hair with a mouth full of food. “It’s beautiful.”

Clarke nods. “It is. It is considered by my people a gift from Poseidon.”

“Thank you, Poseidon!” Finn exclaims before reaching over the table to grab a piece of gold for himself. He yanks, and Clarke’s head follows the pull, leading her to yelp in pain, the gold attached to her skull. His eyes go wide as she reaches up to grab his hand from her hair before slamming it onto the table, grabbing his fork next to his plate, stabbing the top of his hand with it. Finn yells out, and the room goes silent.

“I will rip you apart if you ever touch me again,” she spits through clenched teeth, her eyes turning white, her teeth sharper than before. Anger transforms her into something less pretty, more like a demon. He’s terrified, her appearance more frightening than the blood pooling around his hand.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Bellamy says suddenly, grabbing Clarke’s wrists, pulling her from the table. He grips her hand as he leads her away, commotion growing behind them as Finn pulls the fork from his hand with a yell.

Bellamy leads her all the way to his quarters, slamming the door behind them. She thought he was angry over his crew, but when he turned to face her, his face told her otherwise.

“You’ve been here _two weeks_ and you’re already _stabbing_ my crew?”

Clarke is taken aback, her eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. “What was I to do, let him pull my hair?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bellamy seethes, an exasperated smile on his face. “You sound like a _child!_ He pulled your hair, it’s not like he caught you in a net.”

“He was a threat,” she told him, watching him pace around the round table in the center of the room. “I neutralized it. I thought you did not like him.”

Bellamy rubs his face with his hands, letting out a groan. “Just because I don’t like him doesn’t mean I want him stabbed at the dinner table! He’s one of my best crew members. He’s useless now until he heals, and I will not apologize for him being a pirate.”

“You are not like him, Captain. I know that-”

“I am like him because I’m the one who got him to join the crew!” He’s frustrated and furious, reaching his hands back to thread his fingers together in his hair. “I let you make me believe that I am this man who is good and worth redeeming when I should have just let them capture you that night on the island.”

She recoils as if he slapped her, but he might as well have, it probably would have hurt less. She told him her fears and her secrets, and he throws it back in her face. But there is no anger within her like there should have been, only sadness. She feels the backs of her eyes pinch, and she reaches up to rub her eyes before tears could fall. He doesn’t deserve siren tears.

“You are right,” she finally speaks, and he doesn’t meet her gaze. “You, a _pirate,_ do not deserve me.”

With that, she turns on her heel and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her.

It’s the first night since she boarded the Dropship that Bellamy spends alone. He’s restless and uneasy, unable to get comfortable, unable to find sleep. He tosses and turns, runs his hands through his tangled and outgrown hair, paces his room, reads a book, trying to find any sort of release. She threw him off his balance, invading his mind, only to leave him high and dry. He doesn’t know where the hell she is, or if she’s still even on the ship.

Morning finds him and he’s wide awake, choosing to start his day instead of wallow in self-pity.

He drowns himself in his duties, plundering ships, fishing where they can. But she’s still there, in his mind and soul, wearing him down, eating him alive.

Two more days pass and he hasn’t seen Clarke, wondering if maybe she has swum off. He recognizes the ache in his chest as heartache, something he hasn’t experienced since Gina died. It frustrates him because his feelings for her are so intense, he feels himself going crazy. He _knows_ he’s going crazy.

Unbeknownst to the Captain, Clarke has been aboard the whole time, below deck with Raven. She still cannot swim, so she took refuge elsewhere, staying under the wooden boards to avoid Bellamy. Raven shares her portions and Clarke sleeps when Raven is above deck, making sure she won’t cross paths with the Captain. No one has bothered her since the incident at dinner, and she’s relieved. There are reasons her kind do not take kindly to sailors, and this must be a reason why. They do not respect her.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Clarke is pulled from her thoughts, dropping her knees from her chest as she sits on Raven’s cot, looking up at the crewmember. “What?”

“The Captain. Bellamy,” Raven specifies, crossing her arms. “You barely said a word in three days. I know what love looks like; trust me, I have a girlfriend.”

Clarke doesn’t answer her. Instead, she looks down to inspect her foot. There’s barely been a change, and she wants nothing more than to go home. Bellamy alleviated some of her homesickness these past few weeks, but now that they were no longer talking, it came crashing down on her. “It is different up here. Love. It is so much more complicated.”

Raven scoffs, sitting down next to the siren. “The special kind always is. If it’s any consolation, I’ve never seen Bellamy treat a woman the way he does you.”

“There have been others?”

 Raven raises an eyebrow. “Of course there were. He’s a pirate, Clarke. There’s a new woman every port. It got better when he was wed, but only slightly. The sea is lonely.”

“The Captain is married?” She asks. It seemed hard to believe. His guard was always up, but she supposes that’s because she was the other woman.

“Was,” Raven corrected. “She died shortly after with some sort of illness. Bellamy stayed on land for a while. He didn’t come near the ship.”

The siren’s heart sinks. “I had no idea.”

He’s seen pain, more than someone should ever have to endure. It doesn’t excuse his outburst on her but it was a reason. He’s unreadable to her and this may be why.

Raven shrugs. “He seems to have moved on. Especially now that you’re here. Although we’ve only seen him a few seconds a day, he seems happier. Lighter. It’s nice.”

Clarke begins to smile, but it quickly falls. “I ruined it. My temper is my downfall. It seems it is too much for him. He does not want anything to do with me.”

There’s a twinkle in Raven’s eye, and she gives her a knowing smile, tapping her knee before getting up. “I have just the thing.”

“You have something for me?” The siren asks her with a smile, watching her squat at the foot of her bunk.

“My partner does, actually. I only have it for safe keeping. Luna loves to wear dresses,” Raven tells her, rummaging through her trunk. Eventually, she pulls out a crimson dress with white ruffles, handing it to Clarke, along with a leather corset. She digs out fishnet stockings, and Clarke strips herself of Bellamy’s shirt and Raven’s pants, trying the dress on, examining herself in the grimy mirror on the opposite side of the room.

“Bellamy would like it, yes?” She asks her new friend, dusting her fingers over her collar bone, just like he would, during the late night moments, when the ship was silent and he would make love to her. She shivers.

Raven chuckles. “Blake is always a sucker for a damsel in a dress. Especially if you’re showing some leg.”

Taking her advice, Clarke reaches down and grabs the fabric between her fingers, testing its strength. She pulls sharply, ripping a slit in the dress all the way up to her bare hip, showing off Raven’s stockings.

“I meant more like… picking up your dress as you walk.” Raven’s eyes go wide. “But that’s one way to do it.”

After a few finishing touches, Clarke takes a deep breath before pushing open the door to Bellamy’s Captain quarters. He’s standing around the oval table, his palms placed flat on the mahogany, examining multiple maps in front of him. His back is to her. After learning Raven’s revelation, her heart is in her throat and she feels almost giddy. He may very well love her.

“I’m not in the mood, Murphy.”

“Good thing I am not John,” Clarke says smoothly, and instantly his shoulders stiffen. He turns to face her, and he takes her in. Due to the slit being so high, it’s clear she has nothing underneath her borrowed dress, and he’s already itching to take it off her. Warmth spreads through his chest.

As she nears him, he watches the siren warily. “I thought you left. I thought you were angry with me.”

“I am,” she stops in front of him, sizing him up. He stares down at her, his brown eyes unwavering. “I was just thinking you may want to apologize.”

His eyes narrow. “I don’t apologize.”

Clarke smiles inwardly. _Always so stubborn._

She leans forward, putting her hands on his chest, sliding up the frilly cotton to wind her arms around his neck. He exhales at her touch, his eyes beginning to close.

Clarke brings her lips to his jaw, and he shudders. “Why not?” She drags her lips down his neck and against his collar bone.

“Because,” he forces out, his hands running up her sides. “Captains don’t apologize to the crew. The crew apologizes to captains.”

“Oh,” she says with understanding, reaching down to the hem of his shirt, moving it up. He’s more than eager than to help her take it off, and Clarke hooks a finger into the tangled chains around his bronzed neck, allowing him to lift her onto the table, settling in between her legs. She pulls him so close, she must lean back to prevent him from kissing her. “So, I’m just another member of your crew?”

He reaches up to slip a sleeve off her shoulder, leaning down to kiss her skin. She sighs, allowing her head to fall back. “You know you’re different,” he tells her, biting her shoulder, leaving a mark.  She lets his touches take her elsewhere, already surrendering to his lips. Clarke allows Bellamy to mold her to his desire, and he chuckles as he pulls away.

“You have no resolve,” he tells her, waiting for her to open her icy blue eyes before smiling at her. She matches his grin with a knowing look, her eyes sweet but surrounded by steel. He knew better than to lower his guard around her.

Her eyes fell from his gaze to his lips, to his chest. Her soft lips part in concentration and he watches her watch him. Heat is radiating off her body, and her fingers spreading on his chest raises goosebumps. She removes but one, tracing the faded black lines on his brown skin.

“What are all these markings?”

A hand moves up to her cheek, caressing her soft skin with his thumb. “They’re tattoos,” he tells her, surprising himself with how soft his voice was. He’s just now noticing how silent the room is, and his heart is beating in his ears. Her dainty fingers travel, going from the chain by his shoulder to the compass on his pec. She’s so focused on every line, he’s charmed just by watching her. She is so, so beautiful. She has such a tight hold on his heart, if she ever left him, it would surely break him.

“What does this one mean?” She asks, brushing the faded roman numerals on his collar bone with the pad of her thumb.

He watches her, readying to gauge her reaction. “That’s the date my father died.”

Clarke’s fingers freeze but she continues, brushing over it once more. “Were you close with him?”

“In the beginning, when I was a boy,” Bellamy adjusts his grip on her waist, and she moves with him freely. “It’s been many years.”

She glances up at him playfully. “How old _are_ you, Captain?” She asks coyly.

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her, thankful for the change of subject. He never liked talking about his past. “Not a month past thirty-two. How old are you? Or are sirens not constricted by human laws?”

She turns her gaze back to his decorated chest, tracing the shape of what she guesses is the Dropship printed on his abdomen. He flexes. “We do not age in water, only on land. Remember?” She tells him, furrowing her brow in concentration. “By human restraints, I am twenty-four. I was born, by nature, mature.”

He nods, pretending like he understands. It’s so easy to forget that Clarke is more than just a woman, even with the scales on her face and the gold flecks in her hair. He falls into trances around her easily, mostly by her will.

“I am sorry, you know,” he interjects, his apology surprising even himself. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

Clarke pays no mind to his words. She pokes his side, and when he looks down, her finger is on the large scar on his waist, wrapping from just under his abdomen to the middle of his back. “What is this from?”

“Fishing line accident,” he says, watching her eyes turn into icy blue flames. She was angry just at the mention of the sport, but her hold on his soul made him promise the truth. He surprises himself with how gently he grabs her wrist, bringing her fingers to another, this one on his chest just below his right nipple. It was jagged and wide, a stark contrast to his dark complexion.

She glances up at him through her eyelashes, and he’s breathless. She is so beautiful. “What happened?”

He reaches out to touch her face, and she tilts her cheek into his palm, her hypnotizing eyes never leaving his. He supposes she does it on purpose. “I brought a sword to a gun fight.”

Her thumb traces the gash, over and over. She concentrates as she goes from one scar to the next, asking for every single story that goes along with them.

Bellamy shudders when her fingers trace the scars on his body to the waistline on his pants, and she bites back a grin, a sudden change of pace, a flip from her soft side. Her arms wind their way around his shoulders, pulling him close. “Do you want me, Captain?”

He groans as she slithers closer, hooking her legs around his strong waist, locking him in place. “You always ask and my answer always remains the same; I always want you,” he tells her, moving in to kiss her chest.

This time, it’s different. Their movements are fiercer, more urgent. Bellamy reaches back to grab a knee, hitching her leg higher on his waist. He forces himself closer, tilting her back, and she must drop a hand to the table beneath her, spreading her thin fingers wide on the wood to keep upright.

Clarke throws her head back when her thighs tighten around him, and he splays his fingers across her shoulders, pressing her as close to him as possible as he marks her neck. The boat is silent but it’s positively sweltering, and Clarke can already feel sweat on her temples and between her breasts.

All it takes is a small whimper for her to lose his thought process. He doesn’t even think before he reaches behind her, shoving his guns and daggers and maps from the table before pushing her back, laying her down. His fingers have a mind of their own when he pulls back from her, racing to undo the knots of her corset before yanking it from her body. Her dress is quick to follow, leaving her in nothing but stockings and boots. He pulls back to look at her, splayed over his table on her back, breathing hard, reaching for him. He had to admit, she never looked sexier than she does now, in pirate gear.

She whines in impatience, and Bellamy feels that insatiable pull on his heart again, Clarke guiding him without any words. _Touch me._

He obliges immediately, leaning down to press his lips to her collar bone, her fingers reaching up to grab his shoulders. She hugs him close as he slides a hand between her thighs, jumping in his arms as he touches her.

“ _Oh mon Dieu,_ ” she sighs as he kisses the valley between her breasts, beginning to grind down onto his hand, letting her head fall to the side, blonde hair spilling over the edges of the table. He chuckles into her skin as his lips trail lower, biting her hip bone, feeling her tense up in his arms.

When Bellamy removes his hand from between her legs, Clarke lifts her head just long enough to watch him wrap his strong arms around her thighs, throwing her thighs over his broad shoulders as he locks eyes with her. She’s shaking with anticipation, and he gives her the faintest of smiles before closing his mouth on her clit.

She drops her head back onto the table, arching her back as she moans, her nimble fingers already tangling in his knotted hair. She’s been on edge since their argument, and now that he’s giving her release, she can’t keep _quiet._ She must bite down on a knuckle to keep his crew from hearing.

He has to force her hips back down onto the table as his tongue flattens against her core, allowing her to rock her hips against him. Bellamy is so good at working her up; he’s already come to know her inside and out, across every inch of her skin. He knows how to work her just right, and she feels that she’s about to-

The pounding on the door scares them both, making them jump. Clarke is trembling as she drops the hand from her mouth, propping herself up on her elbow. She’s sweating, and his hair sticks to her thighs as he tries to pull away.

“Ignore it,” she tells him, pulling him back to her, and he’s more than glad to oblige. But before he can return his mouth to her core, there’s more pounding, and it’s not letting up.

“Captain!” Bellamy can hear it’s Murphy.

He slowly but surely breaks away from the siren, avoiding her pleading eyes as he moves to adjust himself in his pants. “Shit,” he mutters, reaching above her head to grab his shirt, throwing it haphazardly over his torso before moving to the doors. He throws a glance over to Clarke before opening the door, hoping his crewmate won’t be able to see the naked woman on the table.

Bellamy opens the door, shielding his eyes from the setting Caribbean sun. “What do you need, Murphy?”

The sailor looks at his strangely, watching his captain wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Is it really that hot in there?” Something suddenly dawns on him, because he begins to smile smugly, trying to look past Bellamy. “Is the mermaid in there right now?”

Bellamy frowns, blocking Murphy’s view from inside his quarters before shutting the door behind him completely, separating them from Clarke.

She lets out a sigh as she drops back onto the table, pressing her palm to her forehead. She’s still shuddering, and she was _so close._ She has to thank Raven later for the advice.

Clarke closes her eyes and trains her ears on his voice, searching for him through sailors and crew. She grows frustrated the longer she searches, not able to find him. They must have walked away from the door.

Cold air begins to seep through her skin as if it’s just now realizing Bellamy has left her. She sits up on the table, jumping onto shaky feet before reaching to push open the curtain to his bedroom. Clarke walks to the chest in the corner, grabbing one of his shirts strewn over the top, slipping it over her head, flipping her long hair from the collar before returning to the main room.

For the amount of time Clarke has spent in his bed, she’s rarely been in the main room. She reaches down to collect the maps Bellamy sloppily threw to the ground in their haste, examining them. They were carefully colored, every line straight and precise. It’s signed _Bellamy Blake_ at the bottom corner. _Bellamy made these._

Clarke finds herself smiling at the very thought of him, biting her bottom lip as she rolls them up, placing them back on the table. Next are the pistols, and then his sword, resting them carefully on the wood before moving on, biting her thumbnail as she crosses the room to the bookcases, viewing the knickknacks and books perched on the shelves.

He’s an intellectual man, she figures, reading the titles on the spines of books, taking in treasures from worldly travel. He’s been everywhere – from Cuba to England, from Asia to Africa. Clarke faintly smiles when a mini French flag catches her attention, reminding her of her origin.

Suddenly, an explosion rocks the boat, unbearable ringing filling her ears. She’s thrown off her feet but catches herself before falling to the floor. She’s disoriented and smells… fire?

 _Bellamy._ She must find Bellamy.

She makes her way to the heavy double doors, holding a hand to her ear as she pushes her way out into the night air, willing the ringing to stop. Only it isn’t peaceful. It’s a war zone.

There’s a boat to the left of the Dropship, foreign men beginning to come aboard. They’re fighting with swords, and she’s so overwhelmed she just stands there, reaching back absently to close the door to Bellamy’s quarters.

She steps forward, unable to find him. He’s not on the stern or on the sides, fighting alongside his men. She needs to make sure he’s safe. _Where was he?_

Warm hands encompass her shoulders, Bellamy appearing in front of her. He’s shouting something at her, pushing her backward, but she can’t hear him. Everything seems to be in slow motion, her ears still ringing. Clarke trips as she steps backward, but Bellamy tightens his grip on her arms, holding her up.

“What?” She asks, hoping it’s loud enough to hear her. “I do not understand.”

He reaches up to brush the hair from her face that the wind is whipping around, but the same frantic look is on his face, continuing to push her back. _What is he saying?_

Suddenly, his face twists into pain. His grip on her goes limp and he falls forward, Clarke having no choice but to catch him. Her hands circle around his back as she looks ahead, someone she’s never seen before locking eyes with her. But before the foreign man could do anything, Miller drives a sword through his back before rushing to his captain. Clarke pulls her hands away from Bellamy’s back, and when she looks down, she sees blood.

Everything suddenly crashes down on Clarke, kicking her out of whatever trance she was in. “He is bleeding!” She cries. “Nathan, he is bleeding!”

Miller grabs one of Bellamy’s arms, wrapping it around his shoulders, relieving Clarke from some of his weight. She follows suit, keeping one arm around his waist, the other hand reaching up to grab his own.

“Raven!” Miller shouts over his shoulder to their right-hand woman, and that gets her attention, her eyes widening when she sees her injured captain. “Take charge! Murphy, you’re with us!”

Miller leads them into Bellamy’s quarters, pushing through the main room and into the bedroom. He and Clarke lower him onto his bed, and the Captain yells out in pain through clenched teeth, fighting out of their grip.

“Turn him on his stomach. Quickly, Clarke,” Miller tells the siren, and she nods, gripping his shoulders, flipping him over. Bellamy’s eyes are tightly shut, agonizing pants slipping through his teeth. Clarke kneels on the bed beside him, getting a better look at his back.

Sure enough, there’s an angry red gash running from his waist to his shoulders where freckled muscle was once before, blood soaking his white shirt. Miller reaches to his waist to grab a dagger, cutting the ragged shirt from his body. Bellamy is breaking out in cold sweats, and Miller curses under his breath. Clarke doesn’t know what to do, so she reaches out to soothe his unruly hair, grabbing his hand with hers. He squeezes her fingers tight as if trying to relieve himself of pain.

“Well, can we do anything?” Murphy asks them, beginning to pace the room. “Or are we just gonna let the bastard bleed out?”

Bellamy lets out another groan, squeezing Clarke’s hand tighter. “Shut up, Murphy!” he roars. She instantly tries to soothe him, whispering things to him in French, hoping it helps him take his mind off the pain.

She looks up at Miller, and he seems at a loss. “Is there anything we can do?”

Miller’s gaze locks with hers, and her heart sinks the second he shakes his head. “We can wrap him up, but even then, I don’t think it’s enough to get him to a doctor at the closest port alive.”

“If you got any witchy mermaid magic, do it now,” Murphy tells her, crossing his arms over his chest, somber.

The hand in Clarke’s is easing off its grip, and tears pinch the backs of her eyes as she looks down at him, his breathing ragged, his skin pale. He’s dying. He’s dying when she just got him back.

A tear slips down her cheek as she levels her face with his, brushing his hair from his face. “Bellamy, look at me. Look at me.”  

His eyes open, eyelids heavy as his gaze locks with hers. He watches her icy eyes turn gold. “I am sorry, but this will hurt.”

He watches her as she wipes her tear stricken cheeks with her fingers before placing them on his back, and instantly he feels as if he’s lit on fire.

Bellamy screams out from pain louder than he has before, and all three of them must hold him down, keeping him from thrashing about. “I am sorry,” she tells him over his shouts, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he yells. “I am sorry.”

Clarke turns to Murphy. “Give me a clean shirt.”

The sailor does what she asks of him, dumbfounded by her actions as she grabs it from him, ripping the front of the shirt open. She twists it into one, long piece of fabric before looking to Miller. “You will need to hold him upright. I need to wrap this around him to keep the wound clean.”  

Miller nods, and he and Murphy both sit Bellamy up on his bed, holding him as still as they could as she tends to him, tying a knot on his chest when she was done. She lays him down, propping his head up with a feathered pillow, brushing his jaw with her fingertips. He looks weak, and it’s not long before he’s asleep. When she turns back to the sailors, they’re looking at her like she’s got three heads.

“Siren tears heal humans,” she tells them, turning back to Bellamy’s sleeping form. “Slowly, but they heal whatever is injured.”

“So he’ll be okay?” Miller asks.

Clarke turns her head to look at him, her gold eyes enchanting them both. “Eventually… Go. The crew needs you.” Wordlessly, they part, drawing their swords before exiting.

The siren watches Bellamy, making sure he’s breathing, sleeping peacefully. The noises outside begin to die down eventually, so she kicks off her boots, leaving her lacy stockings be as she reaches down to the foot of the bed to grab a fur blanket, lying beside him as she covers them both. She watches his chest carefully as she cuddles next to his arm, intertwining her fingers with his. She closes her eyes and sighs, relaxing her shoulders, pressing her lips to his shoulder. Before she knows it, she’s asleep.


	3. Fallen Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more of a filler than anything, so it will be fairly short. Enjoy!

She wakes up before he does, relieved that the boat was silent. They were still smoothly sailing, so it must have been a victory for the Dropship.

The ship has an eerily somber feel to it, the cracks in the wooden boat understanding the gravity of the Captain’s situation. He was hurt in battle, and what usually would kill someone was able to be salvaged. He was saved by her.

Bellamy is still asleep, and her heart sinks when she lifts her head from his bicep, taking in his appearance. He was still pale, almost sickly, even. Sweat peppered his forehead and his upper lip, and his breathing was still slightly jagged. But he was alive, and at the end of the day, that’s all that really mattered to her. He’s able to get over a healing gash, not death.

Clarke is unfamiliar with the ache in her chest, but she knows enough to know it’s love. She has never been in love before, but she watched countless of times her fellow sisters fall in love with mermen, and get married, and will nature to reproduce for them. But she’s never seen love with a human, let alone have a sense of kindness towards them. She was always taught they were enemies, but here she is, healing the man she was in love with.

_The man she was in love with._

She doesn’t have time to dwell on her thoughts when Bellamy shifts below her, forcing her out of her thoughts and into reality. He groans and rolls his shoulder, his face contorting in pain before he opens his eyes, blinking his gaze into focus.

“Bellamy?” She asks him, her voice gentle, hesitant.

His eyes drag to her, his gaze wild but trained on her. He watches her as she cups his face in her hands, keeping him from moving too much.

“I never thought I’d hear you call me by my name,” he croaks out, his voice weak. But he smiles, and she helps him as he sits up. She pulls him into a gentle hug, careful not to anger his injury, and she melts when his arms encompass her. She breathes him in and brushes his hair with her fingers at the nape of his neck, goosebumps rising on her skin when he leans down to kiss her shoulder. This is where she wants to be most. Not the water, not the beach, _here._ In his arms.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into her hair, an arm around her waist, the other gripping her shoulders. Her long hair tickles his nose and cheek, her scent enchanting him as much as her body does. “I should have died. Thank you.”

Clarke’s eyes closed as a smile creeps onto her lips. She desperately wants to know his thoughts, and how he feels about her, and what he must think their future will be like, but she made herself a promise to not invade his privacy. If she wants him to trust her, she must earn it first.

He begins to ease away from her, and she holds him a second longer before releasing him. But his contact doesn’t go far, sliding his hand between hers. She grips his hand, her thumbs rubbing his dark skin comfortingly. “Tell me about you,” he says, his other hand going to her chin, brushing her soft skin. He’s very forward, and she likes this side of him.

She studies his hand in hers, tracing the veins, rubbing the dirt on his palm. “We were sired by nature during ancient times. Fallen angels, if you will. We have the power to save lives, but we were ultimately created to steal lives of sailors.”

“But you spare me,” he ponders, making a fist with the hand that is in hers. She drops it. Why?”

Clarke looks at him for a moment, reaching up to brush the hair from his eyes. “Because there is someone in here worth saving,” she tells him, pointing to his chest. “I believe that.”

Bellamy forces out a chuckle through his lips before setting them in a thin line, sitting on her words. “I’m not sure of that.”

They sit in silence, and she reaches back to braid her hair. He watches her every move, his eyes trained on her fingers, watching them bend and move freely. She was exquisite. Perfect.  When she’s finished, he reaches for her, pulling her to him as he props himself up against the headboard. She leans her back against his chest, and his arms instantly encircle her.

“Bellamy?”

“Hmm?” He’s calmer now, his fingers trailing up and down her arm as he kisses her hair.

“Can you tell me about Gina?”

He does a great job at trying to recover from the way his fingers on her arm falter, but her reflexes are too quick, feeling him mentally halt. “What do you want to know?” He finally asks. He figured someone would have told her sooner or later.

“What was she like?”

Bellamy sighs, his fingers starting back up again as he gathers his thoughts, drawing slow, careful lines on her arm. “She was clever most of all. She was vibrant and innovative, and she always was my voice of reason. But on the sea, she was desolate. It never fulfilled her like it does me, and it drove us apart.” He takes a breath. “It was something I couldn’t fix before her passing.”

Clarke is unsure of what to say. She has never had to deal with love nor death, but she did understand pain. “What is it like, being in love?”

She can hear Bellamy smiling. “It’s like… it’s like waking up to the warm sun on your skin. Or diving into the Caribbean water for the first time after a storm. Or laying on your back at night, being able to see every single star in the sky. Or laughing for no reason other than to see her smile.”

She reaches up to grab the arm wrapped around her shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin under her touch. “That sounds nice.”

“It was,” he agrees. “But it wasn’t meant to be.”

“Because she has passed?”

“Yes,” he states, weighing his words before speaking. “But when I had the choice between her or the sea, I chose the sea. It shouldn’t be like that if it’s meant to be.”

Her nerves are burning her fingers and stinging her throat. She wants to tell him. She wants to, but she doesn’t know how. So she closes her eyes and breathes, hoping for the best.

“Do you ever think you could love again?”

His fingers stop their ministrations completely, and she instantly knows he knows what she’s trying to get at.

“Clarke…” he begins, and his voice is too soft for her comfort. “I’m… I’m not the man for you.”

His arm around her shoulders loosen, so she sits up and moves away from his touch despite his protests. She turns to him and the look on her face is so heartbreaking, he wishes he could take his words back instantly. Of course, he was the man for her. He wanted to be, at least.

“Why not?”

“Because-” he reaches out to her, but she avoids his grip. “Because you do not belong here. Would you want to stay on land the rest of your life?”

She shrugs. “We could make it work. We-” He’s already shaking his head before she can finish.

“Clarke,” he starts, reaching to her once more, relieved when she allows him to hold her hands. “There is nothing more I want than to keep you here. But I have eyes; I can see you’re not fulfilled, and I’m not going to try to change you like I tried to change Gina. She could not tame me, just like I do not want to tame you.”

She tries to smile at his words, but it falters. “You want me, Captain?”

He reaches up to gently grab her chin in his hand, brushing her soft skin with his thumb. “Of course I want you,” he smiles. “I always do.”

“So why not try?”

He looks torn like he’s stuck between walking out the door or getting on a knee and marrying her. He wants nothing more than to make her happy, but he can’t bring himself to say what she wants to say.

Instead, he leans in, kissing her forehead. She closes her eyes, swallowing hard when he tucks her hair behind her ear, pulling away. “I do not doubt for a second you will find happiness with someone. It isn’t me.”

Bellamy leans in to kiss her cheek this time, but she’s cold to his touch as if she’s shutting down before his very eyes. He grabs a shirt from the bedside table, slipping it over his head before returning his hand to her cheek. “You can sleep here tonight,” he tells her softly, tilting her head up to look at him. “I’ll give you space.”

She doesn’t allow the tears to fall until she hears the heavy wooden doors close behind him. It was the third time he’s made her cry.


	4. Arkadia

The days blur into each other, and Clarke is unsure of how much time has actually passed since her conversation with Bellamy. She’s sitting on the point of the bow, just like her first night on the Dropship, staring out to sea. But she feels his eyes burning into the back of her skull, and she doesn’t dare steal a glance until she knows he turned away.

When she finally looks, his back is to her, but even then, she can see the newfound edge in his walk. His vest fits his shoulders tightly, his white shirt almost glowing against his brown skin. He’s petting the handle of his sword in its holster, almost protective of it.

He’s angry, she can tell by the way he barks orders at the crew or stomps around deck. She has no idea what for – he was the one who walked out on her.

She looks down at her feet, now covered with Raven’s boots. Her new friend lent her more clothes, but she still chose to wear Bellamy’s shirt. It still has his scent, and it keeps her company when she’s alone in his bed during the night. He refused to sleep with her since, opting to live with the crew instead.

They interact in passing. His hand would graze her hip as he walks by, or his gaze would linger longer than it should when he knows she doesn’t know he’s looking. If she didn’t know better, she would think he regretted his decision, but the way he avoids her tells her otherwise. If he wanted to be with her, he would be with her. It was that simple.

She had gotten word that they were near the coast of Tortuga, and instead of taking in the scenery with Bellamy next to her, she was by herself. On a ship filled with sailors, she has never felt so alone. The sun was not even here for her today, hiding behind dark clouds, a storm threatening the waters.

She kicks her legs back and forth over the edge of the ship as commotion picks up on board, sailors beginning to yell, beginning to cheer. But she’s numb, and frankly, she doesn’t care. They are pirates, and she should have known not to care for pirates.

Heavy steps approach her from behind, and she doesn’t need to turn to know it’s Bellamy. He walks up beside her, and his eyes are trained on her face while she looks out to sea.

“I need you to go to my quarters,” he tells her, his voice eerily calm, reaching up to brush his nose. “Now.”

“What for?” She asks him, not daring to take her eyes off the horizon. She missed his voice. She wants to keep him talking.

“Because I don’t want you getting hurt,” he states, crossing his arms over his chest, his shirt tightening around his arms. The shouting grows, and Clarke finally takes her eyes off the water long enough to look behind her.

A ship is slowly coming up to the Dropship, most likely another pirate ship. But their cannons are drawn and their crew is shouting as well, and she realizes that there will be a battle.

“Clarke, please.”

She cranes her neck to read the name of the ship: _Arkadia._ Arkadia. She’s seen this ship before. But where?

Bellamy reaches out to grab her elbow, pulling her from the bow and onto her feet, already pulling her to the back of the ship. “I swear to God, if you don’t get off the deck I will never forgive you.”  

She yanks her elbow from his grip but follows him nevertheless. “I can fight.”

He whirls on her, stopping her in her tracks. “I’m not risking it. If anything happens to you…” He doesn’t finish his thought, blinking it away. Instead, he starts over. “Just please, follow my orders. For once.”

Clarke would usually not follow such rude direction, but the desperation in his voice is very present, and maybe she was wrong. Maybe he does still want her.

He opens the door for her but shuts it once she’s inside, and she can hear something metal sliding through the handles, trapping her inside. She leans her forehead against the door, wishing she could be with him, wanting to help them. _They were pirates but they were friends_ , she thought. She felt wrong leaving them defenseless.

The heavy walls drown out the sound of cannons as she pushes away from the door, looking around the room. Everything is exactly where he left it however many days ago. He really did give her space.

She finds herself restless, unable to get the name of that ship out of her head. She must have seen Arkadia sailing before. That was it.

Clarke takes a breath as she leans against the table, closing her eyes, searching for Bellamy’s voice. He may not allow her to be with him, but she wanted to follow him, making sure he’s safe.

It takes some time but her ears find his voice, near his friend Miller. “Get me to Shumway,” he tells his friend, and Miller grunts in response.

 _Shumway._ Why is the name so familiar?

Her blood runs cold, her insides icing over as it dawns on her. She’d been on a ship before the Dropship. It had been Arkadia, captained by Shumway. He held her and her sisters prisoner, in glass cages with barely enough water to stay alive. She watched her kind die in front of her eyes day after day. When it came to be her turn for the sailors to have their way with her, she tricked them, managing to get away. She hasn’t thought of it since, choosing to push it from her mind. But now that he’s _here_ and she’s alone, it all comes crashing back down on her.

Her legs give out, and she falls to the ground, her hands shaking as tears begin to fall. But they weren’t because she was upset. They were tears of rage.

She hears a clap of thunder outside, and the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. She is stronger than this. She is stronger than _him._

With a deep breath, she pushes herself up from the floor, her teeth clenched with fury. She needed to get out of this room. She needs to get to him.

She presses on the doors, testing the strength of whatever is locking her in before pushing forward, the doors slamming open. It was a sword that was holding her in, but it was useless now, laying on the deck in metal shards.

Most of the crew is on Arkadia rather than the Dropship, the fight on a foreign body. She steps into the pouring rain and makes her way to a rope, ready to make her way to Shumway. The bastard.

“ _Fuck_ no.”

Clarke hears him before she sees him, and she quickly maneuvers to the left to avoid his hand from clamping down on her shoulder. Bellamy is angry, but she is angrier.

“Don’t you _dare_ touch me,” she seethes at him, jabbing a finger into his chest. The water is webbing her fingers, transforming her. “You have done _enough_ protecting him.”

She turns before she can see the sheer confusion on his face, grabbing a rope, boarding Arkadia. But he’s quick to follow, reaching out to grab her arm, confusion wrinkling his face.

“Protecting who?”

“Shumway!” She yells at him, her eyes wild. She’s not making sense, and she knows she’s not making sense, but she can’t stop long enough to sort her thoughts.

“What about him?” He draws his sword, forcing an enemy sailor to retreat from her, doing his best to keep her safe. “I hate him just as much as anyone.”

“Not me,” she tells him, an exasperated smile forming on her face. “I’m going to kill him. He tortured me. I’m going to kill him.”

He sheathes his sword before looking to her, his eyes wide, like he wants to know more, but is unable due to time constraints. “No, you don’t need to. I’ll do it. Let me do-”

Before he can finish, she spots him: short but solid, on the top of the deck above the captain’s quarters, fighting with Lexa. She reaches out to steal his sword before pushing Bellamy out of her way, not letting anyone stand between her and her target. She’s in kill mode, and she needs to do this. Not just for her revenge, but for all her sisters that died on this ship.

"Clarke! Clarke - listen to me!" He chases after her, but the rain is getting in his eyes, and she's faster than him. He shoves through the crowd, but she's quicker. "You can't do this!"

She stops halfway up the staircase, whirling on him, her blonde hair going wild.  _"Why not?"_  She roars at him, and he's actually taken aback. The usually subtle scales on her skin are now glowing, and her irises are almost white, like ice. Her fingers are gripping his sword tightly, and her hands are becoming webbed from the amount of rain falling. "You care about my morality? My virtue? You do not get it, Bellamy!  _He_ never held you captive, attempting to sell you into some sort of slavery! You will  _never_ understand this rage because  _you_ have never had to live it!" 

Lightning strikes at the most appropriate time, backlighting her, like some sort of villain. Thunder claps almost instantaneously, and the waves are rocking the boat severely off its course. He takes a step to her, and she eyes him.

"I will never understand your grief," he tells her, loud enough to be heard over the waves and crew, gentle enough to keep her emotions at bay. "But I know if you kill him, that will stay with you the rest of your life. It will affect you, whether you want it to or not. You won’t be able to shake it. You won't ever be able to take this back."

He sees the pain in her eyes as she stares him down every time he takes a step up the stairs, and when he's close enough, he sees that she's shaking. He reaches his hands out, placing them as gingerly as his body would allow him on her shoulders, before rubbing down her arms. She's torn as his fingers go to her face, wiping the rain from her cheeks, pushing her wet hair from her face. 

Their moment isn't light. The world stops around them like it's waiting for them. The storm isn't letting up but the fight is, and so he pulls her closer by the waist, her hand running up his back, stopping at his shoulder. Maybe this was it. He pulls her close, and for a second, he thinks she may actually allow him to kiss her, allow him to do anything to take her mind off this fight. Bellamy watches her close her eyes, so he takes that as permission, moving closer. 

Clarke's hand on his shoulder suddenly tightens, immobilizing him. His lips are inches from hers when she opens her eyes, glancing up at him. "I'm a siren," she tells him, her own personal storm raging within her eyes. "To think I haven’t killed before is dangerously ignorant." 

She pushes him away, and he stumbles down the stairs as she darts forward, heading straight for Shumway.

"Clarke!" He calls after her, able to do nothing more than watch her disappear into a sea of enemies.  _"Clarke!"_

Adrenaline is coursing through her, rage driving her to find Shumway. No one in her way dares messes with her, her appearance frightening, the Captain's sword in her hand menacing. 

When Clarke finds him, Shumway's back is to her, engaged in a battle with John Murphy and Lexa. When she reaches him, she grabs his shoulder, turning him around to face her before driving Bellamy's sword through his stomach. He looks at her, eyes wide and afraid, and she stares him down, watching his life seep from his body. 

Her teeth are clenched, and she's shaking with rage. "You dishonor us all."

Clarke pulls the sword out in one swift motion, letting his body fall to the wet wood paneling beneath her feet. She looks up to see Lexa and John Murphy watching her, alarmed, taking in her supernatural appearance. They both take a step back as she steps forward, and she feels empty once the rage begins to subside. She never considered herself a killer, but she murdered today. She murdered someone who hurt her. She was just like her sisters she strived so hard to not be. 

There's a hand on her shoulder, and she's numb but knows that the touch belongs to Bellamy. She turns to face him, water on her lashes, falling to her cheeks when she blinks. His face is broken as if her pain is his. 

Wordlessly, Bellamy reaches out to grab her hand, slowly pulling his sword from her grip. She allows him, her eyes never leaving his, staying still as he slips it back into his belt. 

"I'm sorry," she breathes before thinking, her wet hair blowing in her face with another crack of thunder, rocking the boat sharply to the right. 

Bellamy reaches out to grab the railing before reaching out to her, steadying them both. He reaches up gently, pushing the hair from her face, tapping her cheek with his thumb. 

She feels a tightening in her chest when he drops his hand from her cheek, resting it on the hilt of his sword as he glances around the ship, their enemies retreating now that Clarke has killed their Captain. 

Even with the storm swirling around them, he's beautiful. He's not like any other human she's seen before - he seems somehow soft. He's always well-shaven, even if his life is spent on a busy boat. His strong shoulders are broad, and his jawline is sharp. His tanned skin is peppered with freckles, and his eyes are hard but kind. He's the first of his kind to ever treat her more than just a creature for pleasure, wanting to get to know her, wanting to make her better. 

Bellamy's saying something because his lips are moving, but everything inside of her is turned off, her eyes following the curve of his lips when he speaks. God, she wants to kiss him so bad. So goddamn bad.

So, she reaches out, grabs his shoulders with her hands and pulls him to her, kissing him hard. 

It's almost comical how off guard she catches him. Her fingers tangle in the wet hair on the nape of his neck while the other hand digs into his shoulder, gripping the damp fabric of his cotton shirt. Clarke feels as if the world halts around them, allowing them to have a moment all to themselves.

She didn't realize how desperate she was for this moment until she actually kissed him. He's warm despite the rain, and instantly, she needs  _more._

Bellamy eventually comes to, because he begins to kiss her back. An arm winds around her waist, pulling her closer, the other hand going to cradle the back of her head. If Bellamy didn't know before, he sure knew now. She's officially done him in. He thinks he's in love. 

He kisses her until he's positively breathless, finally pulling away for air. "Why did you do that?" He breathes, flexing his arm around her waist when the ship rocks them sharply to the right, keeping her in place against his chest. 

The hand in his hair goes to his neck, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. Clarke pulls him to her when the boat rocks again, lightning striking, followed by a loud boom of thunder. "Because I love you," she tells him, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the storm and waves. "And I trust you."

He's at a loss for words and he doesn't know what to say. She just quite literally gave him the only secret her people have, and he's overwhelmed. People are running around them; fighting, screaming, holding on to combat the waves, but his world is deathly still.

"Bellamy," she calls out above the thunder, pulling on his black hair, making him look at her. His eyes meet hers, and he's breathless. Her irises are white, her pupils in cat-like form. The raindrops hitting her cheeks instantly soak into her skin, the scales on her temples reflecting the lightning as it strikes, a stark contrast to the dirt smeared on her tan skin from the fight. She looks absolutely ethereal, and Bellamy has never seen anyone - human or creature - as beautiful as her.

She could run. Clarke is physically stronger than anyone on this ship, and her foot was almost healed, and Bellamy would be no match if she wanted to push past him and dive into the water. She's already in a muddy identity between a mermaid and human, and she'd almost immediately be able to swim away the second she hit the sea. But the man in front of her has a hold on her soul so tight, she'll surely suffocate without him. So instead of running, she pulls the pirate closer, taking the breath from his lungs. 

He kisses her harder this time, more feverish; desperate, almost. Their teeth clash and his hands are already slipping under the wet material of her thin shirt, his fingers aching to get closer to her. Her heart is beating out of her chest as she pulls him in by the ruffled collar, the heat in her belly returning once again. 

When they're back on the Dropship she can't pull him into his quarters fast enough. His vest and shirt are already off before he closes the doors, and immediately she shimmies out of her pants, kicking them into a wet pile in the corner of the room. He reaches out with calloused hands, putting his palms flat on her hips before pushing up, her shirt joining her pants on the floor. 

"What will your crew think?" She teases him, her velvet voice entrancing him, her fingers hooked in the tangled chains around his neck, pulling him to his bed. "Surely, they saw us. They know."

Bellamy’s chuckle is low, allowing her to fall onto the blankets, pulling him on top of her, quickly settling in between her thighs. Her breasts are warm against him, and he glances at her, pushing the wet hair from her face. Her sultry stare is back, the one she gave him when they first met.

She reaches up to put her hand on his cheek, brushing his lips with her thumb. "Do you think they will think any less of their Captain for this? Or more?"

Clarke drops her hands to Bellamy's pants, and his thought process is suddenly shot to hell. "What?" he asks distantly, pushing up and bracing himself on his elbows, allowing her to pull his pants to his knees. It's as if she's got him in such a trance, he can't think clearly. He reaches down to push them all the way off, but Clarke is already wrapped around him, and he feels her everywhere. Now that she kissed him once, she can't get enough of him. Her lips are everywhere; his lips, his jaw, his neck, his chest. Her hands are gripping his hair so tight it's inhuman, but the friction she's creating between them by already canting her hips turns his pain into pleasure simultaneously. 

She rolls them over by tightening her thighs on his hips, and when she sits up he's sure he's dead because this world doesn't have this much beauty. The candles burning behind her are angled just right, lighting her up from behind, making her look like his own personal angel. She arches her back as she leans back to push the blonde strands from her eyes, and his gaze dips lower, from her lips to her perfect breasts, to her tight stomach and even lower. Bellamy tries to sit up to grab her, but her hand is quick to press into his strong chest, pushing him back onto the fur below him. She smiles down at him mischievously, and so he settles his hand on her hip with a smile of his own. 

Bellamy throws his head back into the feathered pillows when Clarke reaches down to grip his shaft, drawing a tortured moan from his lips. He picks his head up just in time to see her flatten a hand on his lower stomach, sinking onto him. 

He lets his head fall against the pillow once more as the hand on her hip flexes when she begins to move. "Oh my God." He hears an airy giggle escape her before she gasps, angling her hips just right. The room is deathly silent except for the sounds of their actions and her passive breaths. Her marbled body, once cold from the storm, is now hot under his grip on her hip. Goosebumps erupted over her body, and her mewls of pleasure drive him to insanity.

She cries out when he rolls them once more, settling in between her thighs, instantly throwing a long leg over his shoulder. It's her turn to throw her head back in pleasure at the new angle, and he turns to the side, kissing her knee as he thrusts. From all the times he had her in his bed, she's been quite loud, so he's not surprised when her moans grow louder as his hips find their rhythm. 

Bellamy has had all sorts of women in his bed, but never one quite like this. He never even thought it was possible for sirens to step on land, let alone survive, and letting Clarke stay on the Dropship was the best decision he ever made. Glancing down at her, her icy eyes closed in pleasure, the dull scales on her cheek buzzing to life, her pink lips parted slightly to let whimpers out - she was breathtakingly beautiful. And he was in love. Truly, deeply in love.

The way her fingers pull on his hair is taking him elsewhere, her body forming to fit his, and he wonders if sirens actually have that ability, and it wasn't just a myth he heard on his voyages. That sirens can make your wildest dreams come true.

Clarke slides the hands in his hair forward then, one going to his cheek, the other sliding down to grab his thin necklaces with her finger, pulling him down to her, catching his lips in a hot kiss. It's intimate but sexy, and when she smiles into the kiss, he knows she thinks the same. He allows her to drop her leg from his shoulder, opting to wrap her thighs around his waist. When she arches her back he takes advantage, slipping his arm underneath her, splaying his hand against her back. Her whole body rocks when he thrusts his hips, his moves rough but sure. He’d slept with her countless of times before, but it’s never been quite like this.

She's absolutely done for when he reaches a hand in between their bodies to press his fingers to her clit, her lips falling from his to let out a cry. She never felt anything like the pleasure he's giving her now, and she wants nothing more than to stay in this moment, teetering on the edge of unbearable pleasure and absolute ecstasy, but she's thrown into an orgasm fairly quickly, her body writhing under his, desperate for him to let her ride this out as long as possible. 

Her gasps and whimpers and unholy moans are enough to make him finish himself, holding her deathly tight to himself, repeating her name over and over like a broken prayer from an unreligious man. 

The room falls silent as Bellamy collapses next to Clarke, nothing to hear but their heavy breathing. He's exhausted and she's overstimulated, but eventually, she rolls over, moving her head to his shoulder. His arms encompass her immediately, and those butterflies in her stomach appear again. 

When she speaks, it's soft and harmonious, her voice sweet. "I never thought I would be in bed with a pirate."

His eyes are closed but he knows she's smiling. "I never thought I'd be in bed with a mermaid," he shoots back without missing a beat. Her fingers are drawing faint hearts on his chest, and it's the most relaxed he felt in, well... ever. "You see, pirates are filled with surprises."

She laughs, and it's beautiful. Bellamy could die right now and he'd be at peace. "Am I a pirate now?" She wonders, her accent working under his skin and into his veins. "Now that I've wielded a Captain's sword." 

He grins at her words, rubbing her bare shoulders. "If you want to be," he begins, but then pauses. "But that was the first and only time you'll ever touch my sword."

Clarke is smirking when she props herself up on her elbow, glancing down at him with a smirk. He opens one eye to look at her. "Scared your crew will think you are getting soft?"

Bellamy lets out a long draw of breath, kissing her forehead before pulling her head back down to his chest. "I just..." 

He wants to tell her, tell her that he loves her, but the words dry up and die on his tongue before he can even open his mouth. He's never been emotional before with someone like Clarke, not even Gina, and he didn't want to tarnish the fragile nature of their very relationship. 

She ghosts her fingertips over his forehead, pushing the black hair from his eyes. "What is on your mind, my love?"

He finally opens his eyes, and he realizes he shouldn't; her eyes are glowing gold. She'll drag it out of him. But, he gives in, because there's no point in hiding anymore.

His eyes follow her every glance, never breaking eye contact. "You are so beautiful," he tells her freely, feeling the tether she planted inside of him tugging on what he should really say. "You are my angel." 

She leans in to kiss him, and the pull on his heartstrings cease, much to his relief. It's slower than it's been before like she's taking her time to just  _enjoy_  it. Enjoy him. 

Clarke stirs something within him once more, and he can feel the pleasure coursing through his abdomen again. Bellamy decided to seize the moment, wrapping an arm around her waist as he rolls her onto her back. She begins to laugh, and Bellamy watches her, charmed. She's so free and light, unlike her mood only a few hours ago. She has transformed before him into the woman he fell in love with. The  _siren_ he fell in love with. He was proud of who she was. 

Bellamy traces the line of her face before holding her chin in his fingers, trying his best to ignore the way her legs wrap around his waist and move against him. "Can I kiss you?" He asks her, and she smiles.

"You can kiss me whenever you'd like."


	5. May We Meet Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read my story. It truly means a lot.

Weeks pass, and Clarke suddenly falls ill.

It's nothing Bellamy has ever seen before. Nothing is physically wrong with her, but she seems as if she's fading away like she is falling apart bit by bit. Eventually, she's bedridden, and he never leaves her side. 

This is some sort of cruel fate, he thinks, watching Clarke sleep. Not only did he lose Gina, but he's now at risk of losing Clarke. And he doesn't even know why. Why must the universe hate him? Didn't it already take enough from him?

He's sitting on a stool beside his bed, holding her hand, not even hearing Miller come into the room. He jumps when his friend slaps his shoulder, but his eyes never leave Clarke's face. 

"How's she doing?" Miller asks, his voice gentle as if he's trying not to wake her. 

Bellamy's stomach is churning, the disgust of the situation settling on his face. "Worse," he says, leaning down to kiss the hand in his. It's frail and his heart sinks. "I don't know what else I can do for her."

Miller thinks before answering. "Maybe we should dock," he begins cautiously. "Take her to a doctor at port. We're just off the coast of Tortuga, we could-"

"And say what?" Bellamy asks him, finally looking up at him. "'My siren lover is sick, can you help?' They'd kill her. Or worse; they'd sell her and then they'd kill her. I'm not risking it."

"Well you can't just let her die," Miller shoots back. "We don't have to capabilities to help her on board."

Bellamy doesn't say anything. Instead, he turns his attention back to the sleeping woman, the frown on her face so common he's sure it comes naturally. Her breath is ragged and she's wheezing, unable to get a full breath.

Miller tries again. "Don't let what happened to Gina happen to her," he starts softly, placing his hand on the Captain's shoulders. Bellamy flinches from his touch. 

Before he can answer Clarke stirs in her sleep, and she wakes up, beginning to cough. Bellamy instantly moves to help her sit up and she grips his arm, doubling over, allowing him to hold her. He looks over to Miller.

"Get her some boiled water, she's dehydrated."

He holds her in his arms until Miller returns, water in a foggy glass cup. She reaches out and grabs it, pushing Bellamy from her as she brings the water to her lips. She downs it so fast it spills onto her cheeks, and the pressure she's putting on the glass is so strong, it shatters in her hand. They watch her with concern as she sits back, wheezing out a sigh of relief. The water that spilled onto her skin already seeped in, bringing color back to her cheeks, as if it was breathing life back into her. 

Bellamy watches her.  _That was it_.

"Lower a rowboat," he turns to Miller, pointing him out of the room. "She needs to be in the water, lower a boat for her!"

Miller nods to his orders, running out of the room, off to do his duties. Bellamy turns back to Clarke, putting one arm under her knees, the other latching onto her back, picking her up from the bed in his arms. She's too weak to keep her head up, so it falls back, her arm dangling down. 

The crew watches him leave his quarters with the siren in his arms, and they're silent. somber, even. 

"Is she dead?" He hears Murphy ask. Bellamy's eyes cut to him with swords, and if he didn't have Clarke in his arms, he would have hit him. Thankfully, Raven puts a hand on Murphy's shoulders, pushing him backward before Bellamy could get the chance to think of any other dark thoughts. 

He's careful as he steps into the boat, allowing Miller to lower them into the water, Bellamy holding her close on his lap. She's unresponsive but breathing, and he kisses her on the forehead, whispering in her ear. 

Miller watches them with tired eyes. He can't remember the last time his Captain was this vulnerable, let alone with a woman. The last time he was like this was Gina, and that obviously didn't end well. Ever since, Bellamy had a hard time opening up and tearing down his walls, and Miller is glad his best friend finally found his person.

The bottom of the boat hits the water and instantly Bellamy maneuvers Clarke in his arms, lowering her into the water gently. He kisses her hand before letting her go completely, watching her sink into the water, deeper and deeper until she's out of his line of sight. 

It's silent and a beat passes before Miller speaks. "She'll be fine, right?"

"I hope so." 

They wait even longer, and Bellamy begins to regret his decision. What if she doesn't come back. Or worse, what if she wasn't strong enough to transform back, and he just sent her to her death?

Luckily, he doesn't have much time to dwell, because she surfaces, but only to eye level. His heart stills as he takes in her appearance; the scales on her forehead, vibrant, her eyes almost glowing. The color seems to be back on her skin and he's grateful, relieved to find a solution to her sudden sickness. 

She rises the rest of her face out of the water, the sea lapping at her tanned shoulders. Miller is absolutely speechless as she moves to the edge of the boat, grabbing the edge, pulling herself up. She gives Miller a look of appreciation before turning to Bellamy, her pink lips parting in an exhale. "Thank you," she breathes, watching relief wash over his face. "I should have known I could not stay out of water for long."

He watches the color seep back into her skin and he has never felt as much joy as he does now. He leans down to kiss her and she kissing him back eagerly, reaching up to wrap a wet arm around him, stealing his breath, filling his heart. 

They don't part until Miller clears his throat, a smile on her lips, her arm clinging to the Captain. "Shall I kiss you as well?"

Bellamy chuckles as Miller scratches the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his lips. "I'm happily married, and he is pretty loyal. I'll pass." 

Clarke laughs and releases Bellamy from her awkward hold, watching his straighten back up. "I need to regain my strength," she tells him, eyeing him. "I will return, I promise." 

She's gone as soon as she came, and all that is left is Miller and Bellamy, floating in the water, watching her go.

* * *

 

It's not until nightfall when she, in fact, returns. She has no clothes so she's lucky the crew is drunk, slipping past them as she boards the Dropship. She slinks into the Captain's quarters, and Bellamy's back is to her, wringing his hands as he sits on the chair by his bed. 

"Hi," she breathes, and she wants to cry at how his face fills with sheer joy as he turns to face her, getting up and going to her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he picks her up from the floor, hugging her as close as he can.

"You came back." 

He sets her down and kisses her, and she moans against his lips as his hands seize her face, kissing her until she's breathless, kissing her until her knees give out, falling back onto the bed. 

She's so quick to get lost in him, so easy to lose herself in his kisses and touches, but he's more firm, breaking away from her lips but not going far. "We need to talk."

"Anything," she breathes, pulling his lips back to hers. 

It's so easy for him to give in to her.  _So damn easy._ He wants nothing more than to throw a leg over his shoulder and have her any way she lets him, but there's something else pressing on his mind, more important than this. So he pulls away from her once more, giving her a smile as she pouts at him.

"I'm serious. Please, Clarke." 

After a pause, she releases her iron grip on his hair, and he sits up, moving to the chair next to the bed. She sits up as well, touching her knee to his. His hand goes to her leg, his fingers tracing the muscle in her calf. "Are you truly happy here? With me? If I asked you today, would you stay with me?"

Clarke blinks. "What?"

He takes a deep breath. "It's wrong of me to keep you... on land, I mean," he forces out, rubbing circles on her sunkissed knee with his thumb. She's so beautiful. So, so beautiful. "I can't do that to you. I will not make you choose. Especially when your health is at risk."

"Of course, I belong to the sea." He's never seen her so pained, so torn. He looks down at his hand on her knee, the sting of rejection hitting him, but the hand on his cheek forces him to look back at her. Her eyes are turning gold - he knows she's trying to enchant him. Anything to take away the strange pain that's churning in his chest. "But now, I also belong to you." 

She gives him a small smile, and his heart swells. He figures there's no way he can fall any more in love with her, but here she is, burrowing deeper into his heart. 

"I trust you, Bellamy," she tells him, reaching up to play with his hair on the back of his head. His eyes closed at her touch. "I kissed you because I love you. And I can trust you with my world." 

He scoots closer, and she sighs when he pulls her to him by the knees. "I trust you with my world because you  _are_ my world, Clarke. I was just some sailor lost at sea until you gave me a home. I would give up all of this if you even  _allude_ to the idea of wanting this gone. I am nothing without you,  _mon amour_." Bellamy takes a deep breath before continuing. "I love you, Clarke." 

She grins, and he wants to cry at how absolutely captivating she looks. But she beats him to it, removing the hand in his hair to wipe at her cheek, laughing. "I never thought you would say it."

He gives her a smile of his own, surely making him look under the influence of her. "I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner." 

A weight seems to be lifted from his shoulders when her arms wind around his neck, leaning in to kiss him. Bellamy immediately pulls her to him by the waist, picking her up from the bed, setting her on his lap. She goes straight for his vest, pushing it off his wide shoulders before going for the strings of his shirt. He reaches his hands below his shirt she's been wearing since she boarded the Dropship, running his hands up her thighs before settling on her toned waist. Clarke smiles into the kiss, pulling apart just long enough for him to lift his shirt up and over her head, dropping it to the wood paneling on the floor. 

She stares at him, twirling one of his curls around her pointer finger when he leans back to take her body in, possibly for the last time in a long time. He takes in the marbled shade of her skin, tanned to perfection, impossible to be human. The way her skin almost glitters whenever she shifts her weight. The perfect shape of her breasts, her body built as a weapon against sailors before him. Her taut stomach, widening into perfect hips, still slightly bruised from their last rendezvous. Her legs wrapping around his waist, so long they never end. His heart aches because he loves her so much, and that's why he must let her go. 

Clarke pulls him out of his thoughts by pulling on the tattered hem of his shirt, slipping it over his head. She immediately puts her perfect lips to his chest. With a sigh, he leans his head back, his fingers reaching up to tangle in her soft hair. His hips start to involuntarily cant upward, and Clarke places a dainty hand on his side, matching his slow pace as she drags her full lips to his neck. Bellamy lets out a groan from under her, and her heart is in her throat when he reaches between them, soft fingers going to her center. She sighs when he begins to rub his hand against her, her sweet breath creating goosebumps on his skin. 

She lifts her head from his neck when his thumb begins to massage her clit, putting her mouth to his ear, tangling her hands in his raven hair. "I love you," she whispers against his tanned skin, letting out some sort of whimper when he enters a finger, and then another, and then another. Clarke knew there were many before her. Humans, in his bed with him, under the blankets and fur, just like her. But by the way he was chanting 'I love you,' and the way he was looking at her like she was the only woman alive, she had a feeling she would be the last. 

Clarke threw her head back, rolling her hips in time with his fingers, allowing herself to be present in the moment. Who knows when they'll see each other again. She needed to remember this, and she wants nothing more than to enjoy this one last time. 

When he notices she's close to finishing, Bellamy eases his hand back gently, leaning in to kiss her before she has the chance to frown. He grabs her under her smooth thighs and stands, laying her down on his bed. She pulls him down with her, grabbing him by his shoulder, allowing him to settle in between her legs. Bellamy kisses her chest as her hands have free roam on the grooves of her back. His lips trail from her collarbone to her breast, from her nipple to the valley in the center. The sighs coming from her body is music to his ears, wishing he could stay in this moment forever. 

She moves her hands to his abdomen, working his leather pants down his thighs. He kicks them off, and when he's completely settled, she lets her head fall against the pillow, closing her eyes, knotting her hands in the bear fur under her. Bellamy cradles her head in his hands as he enters her, watching the pleasure contort her flawless face. 

"I love you," he tells her softly, allowing her to pull him down by hooking a finger through the chains of his necklaces, kissing her when he begins to thrust. They're covered in sweat but he grips her hip firmly, picking up his steady pace as she moves against him. 

Clarke fits him perfectly, like a glove. She moved when he moved; she felt pleasure when he did. They were so in tune, he couldn't get enough of her. It was like they wanted to tear each other apart just to get closer. He grabs her hand and pries it from the fur, intertwining her fingers with his. He brought their hands to his lips, kissing her fingers. She watched him with parted lips, her eyes hooded as her hips met his in stride. 

They finished at the same time, and Bellamy figured this was God's - if there even  _was_ a God - way of damning him for the sins he has committed. He met his other half, and he had to give her back to the sea. 

A tear slips from her eye as she blinks, and instantly, he rolls over and pulls her close to his chest, kissing her forehead, rubbing her back. Clarke hugs him as tightly as she can, burying her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent of salt and rum. A siren does not cry, yet he has made her cry in a few short weeks more than she had in a lifetime. 

"Why does this feel like goodbye?" She whispers against his shoulder. 

Bellamy dips his head, kissing her hair, breathing her in for a second more before pulling away. "Because it is." 

* * *

 

The sun pouring through his cracked window wakes her. Clarke barely got any sleep - they spent hours between his bedding together - but the ache in her heart never ceased. She lifts her head from Bellamy's strong chest, looking down at him. He looked so relaxed when he slept - even the scar on his eye looked soft. She tentatively lifted a finger, running it from his temple to his jaw, taking him in, studying his features. He shifted, tightening his grip on her thigh around his waist, pulling her closer to his side. He opens his eyes, still foggy with sleep, and for the first time since they met,  _she_ was the one in wonder. 

They walked out onto the boat's deck together, hand in hand. For once in his life, he was grateful that his crew preferred to sleep in because he wanted a moment alone with his love. 

"I will miss this," she muses as he lowers the lifeboat into the water, her French voice making his heart break in two. "You, most of all." 

When she looks at him, the sun hits her just right, and she glows gold, like a goddess. He wants nothing more than to beg her to stay with him, but he loves her too much. Because he knows if he asks, she will stay. 

When they're far enough away from the Dropship, she stands, removing his shirt, handing it back to him with delicate fingers. Bellamy wraps a hand gently around her knee and kisses her thigh, and when she gives him a look, he smiles and says he had to do it "one last time."

Clarke dives into the water, and he feels as if she took his heart with him. She resurfaces, grabbing onto the edge of the boat, pulling herself closer. Her tail is long and frilly and the most beautiful shade of blue, just like he remembered. 

Just like the first time they met, her eyes lure him close, close enough so she can reach up and caress his cheek. She pulls him in for a kiss, and she's never tasted anything so sad. She tries her best to pour her heart and soul into him as his hand goes to the back of her neck, allowing her lips to convey her love. 

He's the one to break away, but he holds her in place to kiss her forehead before resting his against hers. "May we meet again," he tells her with closed eyes.

"May we meet again." 

When Bellamy opens his eyes, she's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not hesitate to leave a review or kudos! <3


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my story! It means so much! I hope you enjoy what I would consider a soft epilogue :)

It's months before he sees her again. But it seems like it was yesterday when he spots her clinging to the side of the Dropship, pulling herself up, taking his shirt when he offers it, wringing her wet hair out as she steps onto the floorboards of the ship. Raven runs up to hug her, followed by Lexa, and then Miller. Even Murphy smiles at her, grateful for what she has done for them over the year. 

Bellamy is the one to hug her last, but it's the longest hug yet, his arms squeezing her to his chest, his head dipping down to bury his face in her hair. He breathes her in like she's the last bit of oxygen on Earth and he's suffocating. His shoulder is wet, and he realizes she's crying. 

When he pulls away she laughs, reaching up to wipe tears from her eyes. "I expected this to be joyful but I never knew I would shed tears." 

Hearing her voice again practically brings him to his knees. He pulls her to him to kiss her, and it doesn't take long before they're stumbling into his quarters, removing clothing, hands never staying still.

She takes the time to pull away for just a second, taking in his appearance. His face is tanned, freckles peppering his dark complexion. He has a slight beard that scratches her when they kiss, but she finds that she likes it. But other than that, he's exactly how she left him. He's her Bellamy. 

She pulls him back to her and kissing her pushes him back in time to the first time they kissed, when it was storming and he was cold but she kissed him anyway and told him she loved him. He knew it then, he even knew it before, but he loved her this whole time, and now that he said it once he'd say it again. 

"I love you," he mutters against her shoulder as he kisses his way down her neck, pinning her under him, just like he would all those months ago. She grins and her sweet breath washes over his face, enchanting him, drawing him in.

It's not long before they make love under the familiar fur blankets, and again, and again, until after they lay together, breathing heavy, sweat sticking to their bodies. 

She's the first to speak. "I have missed you, Captain." 

Bellamy can't help the smile that cracks his face, and when he looks over at his lover she's already grinning, her chest still rising and falling sharply. "You can call me Bellamy, you know."

"I know," she says, turning onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. "I like the formality." 

He lifts a hand to touch his fingertips to her hot shoulder, and she shivers under his touch, leaning into his hand. "How have you been?" He asks her, brushing the blonde hair back from her eyes. They're still the same icy shade of blue, just like he remembers, just like his dreams remind him every night.

She looks over to him with a closed-lip smile. "It would be much more enjoyable if you would stay in one place. It is quite hard to track a boat that looks like every other ship from the bottom." 

Bellamy laughs, tossing his free arm around her shoulder, gently pushing her to him. She moves with ease, snuggling into his chest, resting her head on his shoulder. She fit perfectly. This was where she belongs, she thinks. "You've been following me?"

"Of course I do," she states, as if it's a given. She's drawing shapes on his chest with her pointer finger, something she always did. "Should I not?" 

"I don't know, I..." Bellamy takes a deep breath, reaching up to scratch his jaw before continuing. "I just didn't think I'd ever see you again."

 Her finger on his chest stops but she stays in place, and he can practically feel her confusion. 

"I felt like you were never really...  _comfortable_ here," Bellamy starts, explaining. "I feel like, in a way, when I let you go, I was liberating you. You don't belong trapped on some ship in the middle of the ocean. You deserve to be  _in_ the ocean, free to be who you are. In hindsight, it felt wrong keeping you here as long as I did."

His words weigh heavy on Clarke's heart, and she takes a minute to let them sink in. "You're wrong," she tells him. "I loved being here with you. I love you." 

The shapes begin on his chest again, so he closes his eyes, relaxing under his touch. He begins to doze off, but he hears her call out his name, and when he opens his eyes again, she's met with her golden gaze. 

"Has it only been me?"

He knows what she's getting at. And instantly, without hesitation, he answers. "It has always been you, and it always will be you."

Clarke smiles, the butterflies in her stomach twisting to her throat, pulling on her heart. Was it possible she tamed a sailor? Or is it more surprising that he was the one who tamed her?

His gaze stays trained on hers, and her eyes fade, back to their hypnotizing blue. "What do you want, Bellamy?" 

It reminds him of one of their very first conversations, when they were on the bow of the Dropship when she first boarded, talking about-

"Forgiveness." 

Her eyes soften and she instantly knows what he's getting at. She remembers.

_“I’m sorry.”_

_Clarke smiles, but it’s from his audacity, not his charm. “Words do not mean much to beings like me. Our actions are what show our true intentions.” She glances at him, her blonde hair whipping around her dewy skin. “Until yours do, I do not accept your apology.”_

_Bellamy’s eyebrows scrunch together, and he reaches up to rub the unruly stubble on his jaw. “I quite literally just apologized, how can you not accept?”_

_The siren is calm, but her eyes are steel. She narrows her icy eyes at him. “Just because you speak of forgiveness does not mean you deserve it to be granted to you. You must earn it, Captain. J'attendra, mon Capitaine.”_

She smiles, leaning in to kiss him. It's slow and easy, and if he didn't know any better, he'd say it was almost innocent. "I forgive you." 

It feels as if a hundred pounds were lifted from his shoulders. He was so in love with her, it surprised him how he fell deeper and deeper every day, even in her absence. But he didn't  _want_ her to be absent, dammit. He wanted to be there with her just like she was with him. He'd very well rather die than be separated from her again. The ache in his chest was unbearable, and it got worse and worse day to day, and before long he was hollow, walking the length of his ship, wishing for her to come back. It was dreadful, and now that she was finally here, his prayers have been answered. He's so in love with her.

"Marry me." 

She freezes, turning to face him. But he slides out from under her, keeping the covers around his waist, leaning down to grab his pants. He digs into the pocket and pulls out a band: simple and gold, a wedding band. He turns back to her and she's tearing up, salty water threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. "Marry me," he repeats.

Clarke can't believe her sight. Just a bit under a year ago, she hated this man. She wanted nothing to do with him, but now his soul was so intertwined with hers, she couldn't picture a life without him. She wanted to be his one and only for however long he would allow her to be.

"Yes."


End file.
